ains certain papers concerning the royal family of Bosnia,
secrets which the revolutionists desire to obtain and publish," she
explained. "The King, distrustful of those about him, gave the packet
into the hands of his faithful subject Latour, in England, and he, in
preference to putting it into a safe, which might attract the spies of
the conspirators, kept it in a small cavity behind the wainscoting in
the drawing-room at Buckworth--a spot which he showed me, so that if any
untoward event occurred I should at least know where the documents were
secreted. When I realised the terrible fate of the unfortunate Latour
and noticed the disordered state of the room and study beyond, I
suspected that search had been made for them, and going to the spot I
pressed the spring, and, finding them still safe, secured them. The
revolutionists undoubtedly saw us leaving the inn at Stilton together,
and believed that I had secured the documents as well as the boy, and
that I had probably, in my flight, handed them to you for safe keeping."

"And the assassins? What has become of them?"

"They returned to Bosnia when they had recovered from the wounds you
inflicted, but were at once arrested on information supplied by me, and
have all four been condemned to solitary confinement for life--a
punishment which is worse than death."

Since that evening I have been a frequent visitor at the Stefanovitchs',
who still live in Florence under the name of Darfour, and more than once
has the little Crown Prince thanked me. The pretty, dark-eyed Clotilde
and her father are quite popular in society, but no one dreams that
little Paul, who is so carefully guarded by the old General and his
trusty soldier-servant, is heir to a European throne, or that his life
was saved in curious circumstances by "the Count's chauffeur."

CHAPTER VIII

THE RED ROOSTER

As chauffeur to one of the most ingenious adventurers who ever staked a
louis at the tables, and travelling constantly up and down Europe, as I
did, I frequently came across strange romances in real life--stranger by
far than any in fiction. My profession often took me amid exciting
scenes, for wherever there was a centre of unusual excitement on the
Continent, and consequent opportunities for pilfering, there we
generally were.

I have acquaintances in every capital; I chatter in half a dozen
tongues; I have the reputation of being an authority on hotels and the
best routes hither and t