ity, unless by any chance he had been bribed by Dalmar-Kalm to
mislead inquirers. This seemed a far-fetched supposition; but why should
Montenegro be chosen as a destination? I asked this question aloud, half
to myself, half to the Countess, and after a fashion she answered it
from the tonneau.

"Dear me, I can't think why on earth they should go there; but I believe
I _do_ remember the Prince once saying, ever so long ago when we first
talked of driving down into Dalmatia, that he had a friend in
Montenegro--an Austrian Consul, though I don't know in what city
there."

"There's only one--the capital, Cettinje," I said mechanically, and my
thoughts leaped ahead to the place I named.

"The scoundrel!" I muttered under my breath.

"Who, the Austrian Consul?"

"No. For all I know, he may be a splendid fellow and probably is; he
would never do the thing. But that beast might hope it."

"What beast--what thing--hope what?"

"I beg your pardon, Countess. I was talking to myself. Nothing that you
would care to hear repeated."

XXVI

A CHAPTER OF HIGH DIPLOMACY

I had heard travellers speak, and had read in books, of that mighty feat
of engineering the road to Montenegro; but even so I was not prepared
for the thrilling grandeur of that night drive in the mountains.

With a carriage and two horses, counting halts for rests we must have
been seven good hours on the way to Cettinje; but my little twelve
horse-power car worked with me heart and soul (I shall always believe
now that she's got something of the sort, packed away in her engine),
and we reached the lonely Montenegrin frontier, near the mountain-top,
in not much over an hour after our start. I caught the glimmer of the
white stones that mark the dividing line between Austrian ground and the
brave little Principality, and knew what they must mean. Twenty minutes
more saw us at the highest point of the stupendous road; and dipping for
a flight downward, we arrived not long after in the cup-like plain where
the first Montenegrin village showed a few lights. I stopped at a small
inn, ordered brandy for the Countess (who was half dead with cold or
terror of our wild race beside precipices) and inquired of the
German-speaking landlord about the Prince's car.

Yes, a big red automobile had rushed by, much to the surprise of
everyone, about an hour ago. No doubt it was bound for Cettinje; but
there had been no news of it since.

We flashed on without wa