"Then you will return to-morrow without us."

Carlo's face hardened. "But--"

"Come outside with me," said M. Ferraud in a tone which brooked no
further argument.

The two stepped out into the hall, and when the Frenchman came back his
face was animated.

"Mr. Ferraud," said the admiral icily, "my daughter has informed me
what passed between you. I must say that you have taken a deal upon
yourself."

"Mr. Ferraud is right," put in Fitzgerald.

"You, too?"

"Yes. I think the time has come, for Mr. Ferraud to offer full
explanations."

The butterfly-hunter resumed his chair. "They will remain or carry us
on to Corte. From there we can take the train back to Ajaccio, saving
a day and a half. Admiral, I have a confession to make. It will
surprise you, and I offer you my apologies at once." He paused. He
loved moments like this, when he could resort to the dramatic in
perfect security. "_I_ was the man in the chimney."

The admiral gasped. Laura dropped her hands to the table. Cathewe sat
back stiffly. Coldfield stared. Hildegarde shaded her face with the
newspaper through which she had been idly glancing.

"Patience!" as the admiral made as though to press back his chair.
"Mr. Fitzgerald knew from the beginning. Is that not true?"

"It is, Mr. Ferraud. Go on."

"Breitmann is the great-grandson of Napoleon. By this time he is
traveling over some mountain pass, with his inheritance snug under his
hand. You will ask, why all these subterfuges, this dodging in and
out? Thus. Could I have found the secret of the chimney--I worked
from memory--none of us would be here, and one of the great
conspiracies of the time would have been nipped in the bud. What do
you think? Breitmann proposes to go into France with the torch of
anarchy in his hand; and if he does, he will be shot. He proposes to
divide this money among his companions, who, with their pockets full of
gold, will desert him the day he touches France. Do you recollect the
scar on his temple? It was not made by a saber; it is the mark of a
bullet. He received it while a correspondent in the Balkans. Well, it
left a mark on his brain also. That is to say, he is conscious of what
he does but not why he does it. He is a sane man with an obsession.
This wound, together with the result of Germany's brutal policy toward
him and France's indifference, has made him a kind of monomaniac. You
will ask why I, an accredited agent in the