ped back, and hastily composed
his face to a pleasant smile of welcome. With this pleasant smile he
awaited the opening of the door.

But as the door opened his eyes were greeted by a sight very
different from what he anticipated. No graceful lady-like form was
there--no elder and maturer likeness of that Miss Lorton whose face
was now so familiar to him, and so dear--but a dozen or so gens
d'armes, headed by the landlord. The latter entered the room, while
the others stood outside in the hall.

"Well," said Obed, angrily. "What is the meaning of this parade?
Where is Miss Lorton?"

"These gentlemen," said the landlord, with much politeness, "will
convey you to the residence of that charming lady."

"It seems to me," said Obed, sternly, "that you have been humbugging
me. Give me a civil answer, or I swear I'll wring your neck. Is Miss
Lorton here or not?"

The landlord stepped back hastily a pace or two, and made a motion to
the gens d'armes. A half dozen of these filed into the room, and
arranged themselves by the windows. The rest remained in the hall.

"What is the meaning of this?" said Obed. "Are you crazy?"

"The meaning is this," said the other, sharply and fiercely. "I am
not the landlord of the Hotel de l'Europe, but sub-agent of the
Neapolitan police. And I arrest you in the name of the king."

"Arrest _me_!" cried Obed. "What the deuce do you mean?"

"It means, Monsieur, that you are trapped at last. I have watched for
you for seven weeks, and have got you now. You need not try to
resist. That is impossible."

Obed looked round in amazement. What was the meaning of it all? There
were the gens d'armes--six in the hall, and six in the room. All
were armed. All looked prepared to fall on him at the slightest
signal.

"Are you a born fool?" he cried at last, turning to the "agent." "Do
you know what you are doing? I am an American, a native of the great
republic, a free man, and a gentleman. What do you mean by this
insult, and these beggarly policemen?"

[Illustration: "Don't Move, Or I'll Blow Your Brains Out!"]

"I mean this," said the other, "that you are my prisoner."

"I am, am I?" said Obed, with a grim smile.

"A prisoner! My friend, that is a difficult thing to come to pass
without my consent."

And saying this, he quietly drew a revolver from his breast pocket.

"Now," said he, "my good friend, look here. I have this little
instrument, and I'm a dead shot. I don't intend to be