ected with him. For all we
know he may be a murderer or a brigand or an escaped convict in disguise.
We only have his word, you know, that he is an American citizen.'

'His word!' Mr. Wilder fairly exploded. 'Are you utterly blind? He's
exactly as much an American citizen as I am. He's----' He stopped and
fanned himself furiously. He had sworn never to betray Tony's secret, and
yet, the present situation was exceptional.

Constance patted him on the arm. 'There, Dad. I haven't a doubt his story
is true. He was born in Budapest, and he's a naturalized American
citizen. It's the duty of the United States Government to protect
him--but it won't be difficult; I dare say he's got his naturalization
papers with him. A word in the morning will set everything straight.'

'Leave him in jail all night?'

'But you can't do anything now; it's after ten o'clock; the authorities
have gone to bed.'

She turned to Gustavo; her tone was reassuring.

'In the morning we'll get some American warships to bombard the jail.'

'Signorina, you joke!' His tone was reproachful.

She suddenly looked anxious. 'Gustavo, is the jail strong?'

'Ver' strong, signorina.'

'He can't escape and get over into Austria? We are very near the
frontier, you know.'

'No, signorina, it is impossible.' He shook his head hopelessly.

Constance laughed and slipped her hand through her father's arm.

'Come, Dad. The first thing in the morning we'll go down to the jail and
cheer him up. There's not the slightest use in worrying any more
to-night. It won't hurt Tony to be kept in--er--cold storage for a few
hours--I think on the whole it will do him good!'

She nodded dismissal to Gustavo, and drew her father, still muttering,
toward the house.

CHAPTER XVII

Jerry Junior's letter of regret arrived from Riva on the early mail. In
the light of Constance's effusively cordial invitation, the terse
formality of his reply was little short of rude; but Constance read
between the lines and was appeased. The writer, plainly, was angry, and
anger was a much more becoming emotion than nonchalance. As she set out
with her father toward the village jail, she was again buoyantly in
command of the situation. She carried a bunch of oleanders, and the pink
and white egg basket swung from her arm. Their way led past the gate of
the Hotel du Lac, and Mr. Wilder, being under the impression that he was
enjoying a very good joke all by himself, could not forgo th