thout humor. "A couple of deaths
and there you see him, on the ground and quite ready. Karl was a genius,
therefore he could not be king. He threw away about five hundred years of
work that had been done for him by other people--and he cajoled you into
sharing his exile. You threw away your life for him! Bah! But you seem
sane enough!"

The prime minister concluded with his rough burr; and Armitage laughed
outright.

"Why the devil don't you go to Vienna and set yourself up like a
gentleman?" demanded the premier.

"Like a gentleman?" repeated Armitage. "It is too late. I should die in
Vienna in a week. Moreover, I _am_ dead, and it is well, when one has
attained that beatific advantage, to stay dead."

"Francis is a troublesome blackguard," declared the old man. "I wish to
God _he_ would form the dying habit, so that I might have a few years in
peace; but he is forever turning up in some mischief. And what can you do
about it? Can we kick him out of the army without a scandal? Don't you
suppose he could go to Budapest tomorrow and make things interesting for
us if he pleased? He's as full of treason as he can stick, I tell you."

Armitage nodded and smiled.

"I dare say," he said in English; and when the old statesman glared at
him he said in German: "No doubt you are speaking the truth."

"Of course I speak the truth; but this is a matter for action, and not
for discussion. That packet was stolen by intention, and not by chance,
John Armitage!"

There was a slight immaterial sound in the hall, and the old prime
minister slipped from German to French without changing countenance as he
continued:

"We have enough troubles in Austria without encouraging treason. If
Rambaud and his chief, Winkelried, could make a king of Francis, the
brokerage--the commission--would be something handsome; and Winkelried
and Rambaud are clever men."

"I know of Winkelried. The continental press has given much space to him
of late; but Rambaud is a new name."

"He is a skilled hand. He is the most daring scoundrel in Europe."

Count von Stroebel poured a glass of brandy from a silver flask and
sipped it slowly.

"I will show you the gentleman's pleasant countenance," said the
minister, and he threw open a leather portfolio and drew from it a small
photograph which he extended to Armitage, who glanced at it carelessly
and then with sudden interest.

"Rambaud!" he exclaimed.

"That's his name in Vienna. In Paris he is some