heard something," said the mountaineer. "He has ears like a rat for
hearing. What a pretty picture!" cynically. "All the world loves a
lover--sometimes. Touching scene!"

No one replied; no one was expected to reply; more than that, no one
cared to court the fury which lay thinly disguised in the mountaineer's
tones.

"To-morrow night; you heard what he said. I am growing weary of this
play. You will stop him on his way to yonder house. A closed carriage
will be at hand. Before he enters, remember. She watches him too long
when he leaves. Fool!"

The quartet stole along in the darkness, noiselessly and secretly.

The vintner had indeed heard something. He knew not what this noise was,
but it was enough to set his heels to flying. A phase had developed in
his character that defied analysis; suspicion, suspicion of daylight, of
night, of shadows moving by walls, of footsteps behind. Only a little
while ago he had walked free-hearted and careless. This growing habit of
skulking was gall and wormwood. Once in his room, which was directly
over the office of the American consulate, he fell into a chair, inert
and breathless. What a night! What a series of adventures!

"Only a month ago I was a boy. I am a man now, for I know what it is to
suffer. Gretchen, dear Gretchen, I am a black scoundrel! But if I break
your heart I shall break my own along with it. I wonder how much longer
it will last. But for that vintner's notice I should have been lost."

By and by he lighted a candle. The room held a cot, a table, and two
chairs. The vintner's wardrobe consisted of a small pack thrown
carelessly into a corner. Out of the drawer in the table he took
several papers and burned them. The ashes he cast out of the window. He
knew something about police methods; they were by no means all through
with him. Ah! A patch of white paper, just inside the door, caught his
eye. He fetched it to the candle. What he read forced the color from his
cheeks and his hands were touched with transient palsy.

"The devil! What shall I do now?" he muttered, thoroughly dismayed.

What indeed should he do? Which way should he move? How long had _he_
been in Dreiberg? Ah, that would be rich! What a joke! It would afford
him a smile in his old age. Carmichael, Carmichael! The vintner chuckled
softly as he scribbled this note:

"If Herr Carmichael would learn the secret of number forty
Krumerweg, let him attire himself as a vintner and be in t