he hills, vowing there is no
place like it in the world's wide round. But even when I am here, I am
not so shut out from the world and its great interests as you seem to
imagine. I see History enacting itself before my eyes, and I cannot sit
by with averted face. I hear the grand chant of Liberty as the beautiful
goddess comes nearer and nearer and smites down one Oppressor after
another with her red right hand; and I cannot shut my ears. I have been
an actor in the great drama of Revolution ever since a lad of twelve. I
saw my father borne off in chains to Siberia, and heard my mother with
her dying breath curse the tyrant who had sent him there. Since that day
Conspiracy has been the very salt of my life. For it I have fought and
bled; for it I have suffered hunger, thirst, imprisonment, and dangers
unnumbered. Paris, Vienna, St. Petersburg, are all places that I can
never hope to see again. For me to set foot in any one of the three
would be to run the risk of almost certain detection, and in my case
detection would mean hopeless incarceration for the poor remainder of my
days. To the world at large I may seem nothing but a simple country
gentleman, living a dull life in a spot remote from all stirring
interests. But I may tell you, sir (in strictest confidence, mind), that
although I stand a little aside from the noise and heat of the battle,
I work for it with heart and brain as busily, and to better purpose, let
us hope, than when I was a much younger man. I am still a conspirator,
and a conspirator I shall remain till Death taps me on the shoulder and
serves me with his last great writ of _habeas corpus_."

These words recurred to Ducie's memory a day or two later when he found
at the dinner-table two foreigners whom he had never seen before.

"Is it possible that these bearded gentlemen are also conspirators?"
asked the Captain of himself. "If so, their mode of life must be a very
uncomfortable one. It never seems to include the use of a razor, and
very sparingly that of comb and brush. I am glad that I have nothing to
do with what Platzoff calls _The Great Cause_."

But Captain Ducie was not a man to trouble himself with the affairs of
other people unless his own interests were in some way affected thereby.
M. Paul Platzoff might have been mixed up with all the plots in Europe
for anything the Captain cared: it was a mere question of taste, and he
never interfered with another man's tastes when they did not cl