itterly disappointed, the chevalier bundled the six hundred
marks back without a single word, and that was the last he ever heard of
the Baron von Steinheid from that day to this."

"The Baron von Steinheid?" repeated Cleek, pulling himself up as though
he had trodden upon something. "Do you mean to say that the man whose
life he saved--Scarmelli--tell me something: Does it happen by any
chance that the 'Chevalier di Roma's' real name is Peter Janssen
Pullaine?"

"Yes," said Scarmelli, in reply. "That is his name. Why?"

"Nothing, but that it solves the riddle, and--the lion has smiled for
the last time! No, don't ask me any questions; there isn't time to
explain. Get me as quickly as you can to the place where we left Mr.
Narkom's motor. Will this way lead me out? Thanks! Get back to the
others, and look for me again in two hours' time; and--Scarmelli!"

"Yes, sir?"

"One last word--don't let that boy get out of your sight for one
instant, and don't, no matter at what cost, let the chevalier do his
turn to-night before I get back. Good-bye for a time. I'm off."

Then he moved like a fleetly-passing shadow round the angle of the
building, and two minutes later he was with Narkom in the red limousine.

"To the German embassy as fast as we can fly," he said as he scrambled
in. "I've something to tell you about that lion's smile, Mr. Narkom, and
I'll tell it while we're on the wing."

CHAPTER XVIII

It was nine o'clock and after. The great show at Olympia was at its
height; the packed house was roaring with delight over the daring
equestrianship of "Mlle. Marie de Zanoni," and the sound of the cheers
rolled in to the huge dressing-tent, where the artists awaited their
several turns, and the chevalier, in spangled trunks and tights, all
ready for his call, sat hugging his child and shivering like a man with
the ague.

"Come, come, buck up, man, and don't funk it like this," said Senor
Sperati, who had graciously consented to assist him with his dressing
because of the injury to his hand. "The idea of you losing your nerve,
you of all men, and because of a little affair like that. You know very
well that Nero is as safe as a kitten to-night, that he never has two
smiling turns in the same week, much less the same day. Your act's the
next on the programme. Buck up and go at it like a man."

"I can't, senor, I can't!" almost wailed the chevalier. "My nerve is
gone. Never, if I live to be a thousand, shall