erness. She gave herself the airs of a Countess already. We took
the Orient Express as far as Munich; then the Brenner to Meran,
and put up for the night at the Erzherzog Johann. Though we had
telegraphed our arrival, and expected some fuss, there was no
demonstration. Next morning we drove out in state to the schloss,
to enter into enjoyment of our vines and fig-trees.

We were met at the door by the surly steward. "I shall dismiss
that man," Charles muttered, as Lord of Lebenstein. "He's too
sour-looking for my taste. Never saw such a brute. Not a smile
of welcome!"

He mounted the steps. The surly man stepped forward and murmured a
few morose words in German. Charles brushed him aside and strode on.
Then there followed a curious scene of mutual misunderstanding. The
surly man called lustily for his servants to eject us. It was some
time before we began to catch at the truth. The surly man was the
_real_ Graf von Lebenstein.

And the Count with the moustache? It dawned upon us now. Colonel
Clay again! More audacious than ever!

Bit by bit it all came out. He had ridden behind us the first day
we viewed the place, and, giving himself out to the servants as
one of our party, had joined us in the reception-room. We asked
the real Count why he had spoken to the intruder. The Count
explained in French that the man with the moustache had introduced
my brother-in-law as the great South African millionaire, while he
described himself as our courier and interpreter. As such he had
had frequent interviews with the real Graf and his lawyers in
Meran, and had driven almost daily across to the castle. The owner
of the estate had named one price from the first, and had stuck to
it manfully. He stuck to it still; and if Sir Charles chose to buy
Schloss Lebenstein over again he was welcome to have it. How the
London lawyers had been duped the Count had not really the slightest
idea. He regretted the incident, and (coldly) wished us a very good
morning.

There was nothing for it but to return as best we might to the
Erzherzog Johann, crestfallen, and telegraph particulars to the
police in London.

Charles and I ran across post-haste to England to track down the
villain. At Southampton Row we found the legal firm by no means
penitent; on the contrary, they were indignant at the way we had
deceived them. An impostor had written to them on Lebenstein
paper from Meran to say that he was coming to London to negotiate
the sale of