etch, and there is no mercy in you. Private
executions are not allowed in this country; you would have us before a
Virginia grand jury and our own necks stretched. No; we shall send him
back to his master."

"It is a mistake. If your Excellency would go away for an hour he should
never know where the buzzards found this large carcass."

"Tush! I would not trust his valuable life to you. Get up!" he commanded,
and Oscar jerked Zmai to his feet.

"You deserve nothing at my hands, but I need a discreet messenger, and
you shall not die to-night, as my worthy adjutant recommends. To-morrow
night, however, or the following night--or any other old night, as we say
in America--if you show yourself in these hills, my chief of staff shall
have his way with you--buzzard meat!"

"The orders are understood," said Oscar, thrusting the revolver into the
giant's ribs.

"Now, Zmai, blacksmith of Toplica, and assassin at large, here is a
letter for Monsieur Chauvenet. It is still early. When you have delivered
it, bring me back the envelope with Monsieur's receipt written right
here, under the seal. Do you understand?"

It had begun to dawn upon Zmai that his life was not in immediate danger,
and the light of intelligence kindled again in his strange little eyes.
Lest he might not fully grasp the errand with which Armitage intrusted
him, Oscar repeated what Armitage had said in somewhat coarser terms.

Again through the moonlight strode the three--out of Armitage's land to
the valley road and to the same point to which Shirley Claiborne had only
a few days before been escorted by the mountaineer.

There they sent the Servian forward to the Springs, and Armitage went
home, leaving Oscar to wait for the return of the receipt.

It was after midnight when Oscar placed it in Armitage's hands at the
bungalow.

"Oscar, it would be a dreadful thing to kill a man," Armitage declared,
holding the empty envelope to the light and reading the line scrawled
beneath the unbroken wax. It was in French:

"You are young to die, Monsieur."

"A man more or less!" and Oscar shrugged his shoulders.

"You are not a good churchman. It is a grievous sin to do murder."

"One may repent; it is so written. The people of your house are Catholics
also."

"That is quite true, though I may seem to forget it. Our work will be
done soon, please God, and we shall ask the blessed sacrament somewhere
in these hills."

Oscar crossed himself and fell to cl