rt listened. He was skeptical, but not entirely incredulous.
He knew the Court--none better. The women of the Court wrote many
letters. He saw a number of them, through one of his men in the post
office. There were many intrigues. After all, who could blame them?
The Court was dreary enough these days, and if they chose to amuse
themselves as best they could--one must make allowances.

"A liaison!" he said at last, with his mouth full. "The Countess is
handsome, and bored. Annunciata is driving her to wickedness, as she
drove her husband. But it is worth consideration. Even the knowledge of
an intrigue is often helpful. Of what size was the letter?"

"A small envelope. I saw no more."

The concierge reflected. "The Countess uses a gray paper with a
coronet."

"This was white."

Black Humbert reflected. "There is, of course, a chance that he has
already passed this on. But even if so, there will be others. The
Countess comes often to the shop?"

"Once in a week, perhaps."

"So." The big man rose, and untied his soiled apron. "Go back," he
said, "and enter the restaurant. Order a small meal, that you may have
finished when he does. Leave with him and suggest the Hungaria."

"Hungaria! I have no money."

"You will need no money. Now, mark this. At a certain corner you will be
attacked and robbed. A mere form," he added, as he saw Herman's pallid
face go whiter. "For the real envelope will be substituted another. In
his breast-pocket, you said. Well, then suggest going to his room. He
may," added the concierge grimly, "require your assistance. Leave him
at his lodging, but watch the house. It is important to know to whom he
delivers these letters."

As the man stood, he seemed to the cowering Herman to swell until he
dominated the room. He took on authority. To Herman came suddenly the
memory of a hidden room, and many men, and one, huge and towering, who
held the others in the hollow of his hand. Herman turned to go, but at
the door the concierge stopped him.

"A moment," he said. "We will select first the shape and fashion of this
envelope you saw. These matters require finesse."

He disappeared, returning shortly with a wooden box, filled to the
top with old envelopes. Each had been neatly opened and its contents
extracted. And on each was neatly penned in a corner the name of the
sender. Herman watched while the concierge dug through it.

"Here it is," he said at last. "The Countess, to her aunt in a nun