ind as to spend the night with him."

"Certainly. Run down to the office, and I shall be with you shortly."
Again alone, Maurice opened his trunk. He brought forth a pint flask
of brandy, some old handkerchiefs to be used as bandages, and a box of
salve he used for bruises when on hunting expeditions. In turning over
his clothes his hand came into contact with his old army revolver. He
scratched his head. "No, it's too much like a cannon, and there's no
room for it in my pockets." He pushed it aside, rose and slammed the lid
of the trunk. "Sprained his ankle? He wasn't gone more than an hour. How
the deuce is he to see the king to-morrow? Probably wishes to appoint me
his agent. That's it. Very well." He proceeded to the office, where he
found the messenger waiting for him. "Come on, and put life into your
steps."

Together they traversed the moonlit thoroughfare. Few persons were
astir. Once the night patrol clattered by. They passed through the
markets, and not far ahead they could see the university. It looked like
a city prison.

"This is the hotel, Herr," said the messenger.

They entered. Maurice approached the proprietor, who was pale and
flurried; but as Maurice had never seen the natural repose of his
countenance, he thought nothing of it.

"My friend, Herr Hamilton, has met with an accident. Where is his room?"

"Number nine; Johann will show you." He acted as if he had something
more to say, but a glance from the round-faced porter silenced him.
Maurice lost much by not seeing this glance. He followed the messenger
up the stairs.

There were no transoms. The corridor was devoid of illumination. The
porter struck a match and held it close to the panel of a door under
which a thread of light streamed.

"This is it, Herr," he bawled, so loudly that Maurice started.

"There was no need of waking the dead to tell me," he growled.

The door opened, and before Maurice could brace himself--for the
interior of the room made all plain to him--he was violently pushed over
the threshold on to his knees. He was up in an instant. The room was
filled with soldiers, foot soldiers of the king, so it seemed.

"What the devil is this?" he demanded, brushing his knees and cursing
himself because he had not brought his Colt when fate had put it almost
in his hand.

"It is a banquet, young man. We were waiting for the guest of honor."

Maurice turned to the speaker, and saw a medium-sized man with gray
hair and a f