ning but
singularly ill-advised hostess. By this time the lady had left Berlin
for this charming old-world seat, and I promptly took measures to have
her placed in preventive arrest whilst I tracked _you_ down.

"You got away again. Even Jupiter nods, you know, my dear Captain
Okewood, and I frankly admit I overlooked the silver badge which you had
in your possession. I must compliment you also on your adroitness in
leaving us that false trail to Munich. It took me in to the extent that
I dispatched an emissary to hunt you down in that delightful capital,
but, for myself, I have a certain _flair_ in these matters, and I
thought you would sooner or later come to Bellevue. You will admit that
I showed some perspicacity?"

"You're wasting time with all this talk," I said sullenly.

Clubfoot raised a hand deprecatingly.

"I take a pride in my work," he observed half-apologetically. Then he
added:

"You must not forget that your pretty Countess is not an American. She
is a German. She is also a widow. You may not know the relations that
existed between her and her late husband, but they were not, I assure
you, of such warmth that the Rachwitz family would unduly mourn her
loss. Do you suppose we care a fig for all the American ambassadors that
ever left the States? My dear sir, I observe that you are still
lamentably ignorant of the revolution that war brings into international
relations. In war, where the national interest is concerned, the
individual is nothing. If he or she must be removed, puff! you snuff the
offender out. Afterwards you can always pay or apologize, or do what is
required."

I listened in silence; I had no defence to offer in face of this deadly
logic, the logic of the stronger man.

Clubfoot produced a paper from his pocket.

"Read that!" he said, tossing it over to me. "It is the summons for the
Countess Rachwitz to appear before a court-martial. Date blank, you see.
You needn't tear it up ... I've got several spare blank forms ... one
for you, too!"

I felt my courage ebbing and my heart turning to water. I handed him
back his paper in silence. The booming of a dinner gong suddenly swelled
into the stillness of the room. Clubfoot rose and rang the bell.

"Here's my offer, Okewood!" he said. "You shall restore that letter to
me in its integrity, and the Countess Rachwitz shall go free provided
she leaves this country and does not return. That's my last word! Take
the night to sleep on it!