me as I ordered him, and I cannot tell where he is."

"I am to blame for this, Maitland, for I ordered him to come over here,
as the most certain of all ways of seeing you."

"And he is here now?"

"Yes. Arrived last night In the hope of your arrival, I gave him a
rendezvous here--any hour from ten to one or two to-night--and we shall
soon see him."

"I must confess, I don't care how brief the interview be: the man is not
at all to my liking."

"You are not likely to be much bored by him here, at least."

"How do you mean?"

"The police are certain to hear of his arrival, and to give him a
friendly hint to arrange his private affairs with all convenient
despatch and move off."

"With what party or section do they connect him?"

"With how many? you might perhaps ask; for I take it he has held office
with every shade of opinion, and intrigued for any cause from Henry V.
to the reddest republicanism. The authorities, however, always deal with
a certain courtesy to a man of this sort. They intimate, simply, We are
aware you are here,--we know pretty well for what; and so don't push
us to any disagreeable measures, but cross over into Belgium or
Switzerland. M'Caskey himself told me he was recognized as he drew up at
the hotel, and, in consequence, thinks he shall have to go on in a day
or two."

"Is not the fellow's vanity in some measure a reason for this? Does he
not rather plume himself on being _l'homme dangereux_ to all Europe?"

"In conversation he would certainly give this idea, but not in fact. He
is marvellously adroit in all his dealings with the authorities, and
in nothing is he more subtle than in the advantage he takes of his own
immense conceit. He invariably makes it appear that vanity is his weak
point; or, as he phrases it himself, 'I always show my adversary so much
of my hand as will mislead him.'"

"And is he really as deep as all this would imply?"

"Very deep for an Englishman; fully able to cope with the cunningest of
his own people, but a child amongst ours, Maitland."

Maitland laughed scornfully as he said, "For the real work of life all
your craft avails little. No man ever cut his way through a wood with a
penknife, were it ever so sharp."

"The Count M'Caskey, Eccellenza, desires to know if you receive?" said
Caffarelli's servant, in a low tone.

"Yes, certainly; but do not admit any one else."

Very significant--but very differently significant--were the looks that
passed