arrival here I have been the
object of many flattering attentions. But why are you concerned, Jason? I
have broken no law of the land. I have merely mixed myself up in French
politics."

Uncle Jason made an impatient gesture.

"You have mixed yourself up in such an important affair, in such a
ridiculous way, that every secret agent that France has in this country
will be in this town in the next twelve hours. That's all you have
done, George."

My father tapped his silver snuff box gently.

"I had hoped as much," he remarked blandly. "When one is the center of
interest, it is always better to be the very center. You must learn to
know me better, Jason, and then you will understand that I always seek
two things. I always seek profit and pleasure. It seems as though I
should find them both in such pleasant company."

Then, as if the matter were settled, he looked again at the shuttered
window, and leaned down to place another log in the fire.

"Come, George," urged my uncle. "Let us be serious. Your nonchalance and
irony have been growing with the years. Surely you recognize that you
have reached the end of your rope. I tell you, George, these men will
stop at nothing."

"Has it ever occurred to you," returned my father, "that I also, may stop
at nothing?"

My uncle frowned, and then smiled bleakly.

"No, George," he said, in a voice that dropped almost to a whisper.
"You are too fond of life for that. Suppose for a moment, just suppose,
they had means of taking you back to France. Just suppose there was a
boat in the harbor now, manned and victualled and waiting for the tide,
with a cabin ready and irons. They would admire to see you back in
Paris, George, for a day, or perhaps two days. I know, George. They
have told me."

"Positively," said my father, stifling a yawn behind his hand,
"positively you frighten me. It is an old sensation and tires me. Surely
you can be more interesting."

Jason's face, red and good-natured always, became a trifle redder.

"We have beat about the bush long enough," he said, with an abrupt lack
of suavity. "I tell you, once and for all, you are running against forces
which are too strong for you--forces, as I have pointed out, that will do
anything to gain possession of a certain paper. They know you have that
paper, George."

My father shrugged his shoulders.

"Indeed?" he said. "I hardly admire their perspicacity."

"And they will prevent your disposing of it at any c