rew his shirt over his head. The pipe fell to the rug and he
stamped out the coals, grumbling.

"You'll set yourself afire one of these fine days," laughed Fitzgerald
from his side of the room.

"I'm safe enough, Jack, you can't set fire to ashes, and that's about
all I amount to." Cathewe got into his pajamas and sat upon the bed.
"Jack, I thought I knew something about this fellow Breitmann; but it
seems I've something to learn."

The younger man said nothing.

"Was that yarn of Ferraud's fact or tommy-rot?"

"Fact."

"The great-grandson of Napoleon! Here! Nothing will ever surprise me
again. But why didn't he lay the matter before Killigrew, like a man?"

Fitzgerald patted and poked the wool-filled pillow, but without
success. It remained as hard and as uninviting as ever. "I've thought
it over, Arthur. I'd have done the same as Breitmann," as if reluctant
to give his due to the missing man.

"But why didn't this butterfly man tell the admiral all?"

"He had excellent reasons. He's a secret agent, and has the idea that
Breitmann wants to go into France and make an emperor of himself."

"Do men dream of such things to-day, let alone try to enact them?"
incredulously.

"Breitmann's an example."

"Are you taking his part?"

"No, damn him! May I ask you a pertinent question?"

"Yes."

"Did he know Miss von Mitter very well in Munich?"

"He did."

"Was he quite square?"

"I am beginning to believe that he was something between a cad and a
scoundrel."

"Did you know that among her forebears on her mother's side was the
Abbe Fanu, who left among other things the diagram of the chimney?"

"So that was it?" Cathewe's jaws hardened.

Fitzgerald understood. Poor old Cathewe!

"Most women are fools!" said Cathewe, as if reading his friend's
thought. "Pick out all the brutes in history; they were always better
loved than decent men. Why? God knows! Well, good night;" and
Cathewe blew out his candle.

So did Fitzgerald; but it was long before he fell asleep. He was
straining his ears for the sound of a carriage coming down from Evisa.
But none came.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE PINES OF AITONE

Before sun-up they were on the way again. They circled through
magnificent gorges now, of deep red and salmon tinted granite,
storm-worn, strangely hollowed out, as if some Titan's hand had been at
work; and always the sudden disappearance and reappearance of the blue
Mediterranean.

The