"I've 'arf a notion to knock your block for a bloomin' sneak." Carrick halted suddenly in the doorway of the cell to face Josef. The Cockney's fists were clenched in a manner which promised that action would immediately follow declaration. Carter intervened peremptorily while Josef discreetly withdrew out of reach of the tough, bunched knuckles.

Led by the Duchess of Schallberg, they traversed a stone-flagged, arched passageway, which brought them to the main hall of the castle. A modern dwelling of average size could have been erected there without entirely exhausting the spaciousness of the hall.

Tattered banners, gray with antiquity, hung like memories on the walls. Below these, crumbling with age, were the antlers of ancestral deer, while arms and armor of heroic mold glimmered from the shadowy niches filled by them for generations.

Crossing the hall, the party led by Trusia approached a tapestried-hung archway, whose single sentry raised the heavy folds to admit her to whatever lay beyond.

Preceded by Her Grace, and followed closely by Josef, Carter and Carrick entered the Council Chamber of Schallberg.

At one end of its many-pillared room, a dais held a double throne, whose high, broad back was carved with many heraldic devices of past intelligence. Its intricate traceries were capped by a lion rampant, which had pawed the air for generations.

Directly from the steps of the throne ran a heavy table at which were seated three Privy Counselors. A fourth seat was vacant. For Her Grace of Schallberg? Evidently not, for she mounted the two broad steps and seated herself on the throne, bowing graciously to the trio of ministers who had risen at her entrance. With a gesture that indicated that Carter and Carrick should stand facing these, their judges, she settled herself back in the high chair, while the accused found themselves with their backs to the door. Josef, with mocking deference, placed himself at the end of the table as the prosecutor. He unburdened himself of the purloined articles which he now placed before him in a little pile.

Admitting the seriousness of the situation so far as himself and his man were concerned, Carter could not but confess that the scene was a picturesque one, and that the very element of danger gave it a touch of piquancy. Here were himself and Carrick, fresh from the greatest shrine of modernity, after having been cast into a mediÆval dungeon, now being hauled before a trinity of gold-laced judges on a charge of being spies.

He glanced admiringly toward Her Grace, whose tempting chin was cupped in her pink palm, while the deep lace of her half sleeve fell back from the round elbow propped by the broad arm of the throne. Her eyes dreamed of far-away things, until, telepathically, she became aware of Carter's ardent gaze.

Recalled to the duty before her, she blushed guiltily at her abstraction.

"Josef says these strangers are spies. You must judge," she said trenchantly to her Counselors.

Carter could have knelt before her as she spoke, for her voice proclaimed her disbelief.

"This," she said turning to Calvert as she indicated the stern-faced veteran nearest the throne, "this is Colonel Sutphen, the Hereditary Chancellor of Krovitch and member of our Privy Council."

Carter bowed gravely, but received no other acknowledgment than a frigid glare from the veteran. Josef had undoubtedly prejudiced Sutphen against the accused. This was more plausible than to suppose that the Colonel had become rancorous merely because the unconscious Trusia had not been more promptly surrendered to him, for it was he who had received her from the automobile. Proudly meeting the glaring eyes of Sutphen, Carter turned with relief to Her Grace of Schallberg. He caught the faint smile of amused comprehension which hovered about her lips; she had seen and enjoyed that duel of glances, as an ancient suzeraine might have delighted in a tourney in her honor. As her eyes met those of the American, he smiled.

"Seated beside Colonel Sutphen is Count Muhlen-Sarkey, the Holder of the Purse."

This Privy Counselor was a moon-faced and rotund individual, who, in his efforts to preserve a fitting severity of expression in keeping with the duty before him, had succeeded only in appearing monstrously depressed. He smiled eagerly, responsively, to Carter's bow, bobbing his head like a gleeful sparrow. As a matter of fact, the proceedings were to him a joke—something to relieve the monotony of his existence. Yet this modern Falstaff, as Carter afterward learned, was among the bravest of the brave, meeting death with this same cheery smile, and following the grim monarch with a jest.

The only remaining member of the Council present was Count Sobieska, Minister of Private Intelligence, who, from under half closed Oriental eyes, acknowledged the presentation with a dignified, but non-committal, inclination of the head. He seemed preoccupied in his own passivity, and was a man in the fullest triumph of life,—the years that enrich at forty. Lithe-looking as a panther—a somnolent animal now to all appearances—an occasional gleam of the half masked eyes suggested that this show of indifference concealed a mind of no inferior order. His nose was thin and arched like an Arab sheik's, and the close black hair was chafed from his temples in a seeming baldness. The iron firmness of his square jaw was not effaced beneath his well-trimmed beard. His hands, lightly folded over the hilt of a sword held between his knees, were long, slim, and muscular. Evidently a tireless friend or an implacable enemy, his was the strongest personality of the three Counselors present, despite his seeming air of ennui.

Bowing to Carter, he had turned an indifferent scrutiny upon Josef, who, though smiling, would have apparently foregone the inspection. All eyes were upon the accuser, however. Trusia's voice broke the silence as she addressed him.

"You may speak, Josef." There was a trace of regret in her voice. "I fear you have been over-zealous."

"Listen, Highness," he said. He was anxious to convince; over-anxious, it seemed. "These men, in their accursed machine, flew past the sentries at the frontier, disregarding all commands to halt, even the shots fired."

"That is true," replied Carter. "We could take no chances. We had no desire to meet Russians just then."

An inquiry half parted Trusia's lips as she turned to hear Carter's confirmation, but checking her curiosity, she signed for Josef to proceed.

"Then they came to Posner's Inn. You know, Highness, what preparations were going forward there. These the spies noted. They even tried to bribe Posner into telling where Count Zulka could be found. They knew there was a heavy price upon his head. The cursed Russians." Carter started in surprise at this information regarding his friend. Josef pointed a triumphant finger at him. "See," he said, "it is true as I have said." Turning to Her Grace he continued, "If you attribute your fall from your horse to an accident, there are others who do not. It was part of their plan. Had not the highways been so well guarded they would have carried you to the Russian salt mines, a prisoner." Josef's vehemence had cost him his breath. He paused to regain it.

To all appearances the Minister of Private Intelligence had been the least interested of the auditors. He now spoke quietly with reference to the belongings lying upon the table. Doubtless his keen eyes had already inventoried them.

"Have you found any proofs?" he asked, with a wave of his hand toward the group of miscellany.

At this question, Josef faced about with a conciliatory smile.

"No more than was to be expected, Excellency, upon the person of a spy of the undoubtedly superior intelligence that Russia would send on a mission to Krovitch just now. A fortune in bills—presumably for bribes, a road map of our country, and the name of 'Zulka' written across the capital, Schallberg."

At the reference to Zulka's name used in connection with the alleged plot, Trusia gave a slight start and a reproachful look clouded her eyes.

Frankly, fearlessly, he met her glance as well as the steel-like glint from Sobieska.

"He was my friend," the American said, as though no further explanation could be demanded.

"He was their quarry," retorted Josef vehemently. "Else why the questions to Posner and attempts to bribe, the fortune in bills, the name written significantly across the capital's, the city where to friends and foes he was best known. Had his friend been as careful," continued Josef, who already tasted triumph and liked the flavor, "we would have no more clues. His passion for acquisition, however, has given us additional material." He held up the star with evident dramatic intent.

As Sutphen and Muhlen-Sarkey recognized it they started in genuine surprise.

"King Stovik's star," cried Sutphen.

Sobieska held out an indolent hand into which the eager Josef dropped it for examination. First the obverse, then the reverse were inspected with apparently slight interest. To Carter's appreciation of character, however, it was evident that not the slightest scratch on its surface had escaped those drooping eyes, as it was passed on to the gaping Holder of the Purse, whose chubby hands received it as though it were the relic of a saint. The jovial face was for the first time honestly grave. Reverently he transferred it to the Hereditary Chancellor. It lay before that bristling veteran who turned a questioning glance to Her Grace of Schallberg.

"I have seen it," she said.

"Is it—is it the missing star?" he asked in a hesitating manner, as though an affirmative answer was more than he could hope for.

"It is," she replied with slightly inclining head.

"Then who is he?" asked the bewildered Sutphen, rising from his seat and pointing impulsively at Carrick.

"Only an English peasant, Excellency, who has stolen the missing star," Josef insinuated.

"Are you sure? Are you sure?" persisted the Colonel, who was struggling with a grave doubt, which was now inclining his judgment in favor of the captives.

Josef, comprehending the nature of the perplexity and fearing he might lose a partisan, advanced an argument whose significance did not then appeal to Carter.

"A medal, Excellency, even that medal may pass easily from one person to another without ownership having any special value. Papers, valuable papers, would be guarded faithfully from father to son because they alone would be incontestable proof. We know what we have already found. Look at this uncouth fellow," said Josef, indicating Carrick with a sneer. "Remember, he is a servant, and judge if there be any chance that his possession of the star should cause you any doubts? Was it with such as he the Line was maintained?"

That he had stilled any uneasiness in the minds of the Counselors caused by the display of the medal, Josef was now satisfied. He paused for a final effort.

Sobieska spoke quickly to Carrick in an unintelligible language to be met with a look of honest mystification.

Josef smiled ironically.

"Your Lordship surely did not expect to catch such clever rogues by so innocent a ruse? They hardly would confess to a familiarity with Russian. Such an admission would convict them. Indulge them in French. One of the pair has that much linguistic ability. Besides, we have so far conducted our investigations in that diplomatic language."

"You are presumptuous, sir," said Trusia sharply. "You have no part in the conduct of this matter. You are simply a witness." Josef bowed low in meekness.

Without deigning a reply to the old fellow, Sobieska spoke next in fairly good English to the Cockney.

"What is your nation—birthplace?"

"England; Whitechapel, London," replied Carrick with natural taciturnity.

"Where did you get that?" continued the Minister, pointing to the medal.

"My guv'nor left it to me when he croaked."

His questioner's eyelids were raised the merest shade in non-comprehension of the vernacular.

"Your governor," he said slowly as if seeking a key to relationship. Josef smiled. The latter's exultation was that of one enjoying a possible misconstruction which might attend a literal interpretation of what he knew was idiomatic.

"Guvnor is the Whitechapel slang for father. My man many years ago told me he had received it in that way—the death of his parent," explained Carter coming to the rescue.

The stately Krovitzer bowed in acknowledgment of the explanation then continued his questioning.

"Where did he get it?" His sleepy eyes were probing deep.

"How the hell should I know," replied the irritated Cockney, who swiftly resented this prying into his affairs. Remembering himself instantly, he turned with a fine red in his face to the girl on the dais. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace, for forgetting myself. It was none of 'is business," he said, defending his lapse.

"Was he English, also?" pursued Sobieska relentlessly.

"Sure."

"His name?"

"Mark Carrick," was the almost surly answer.

"His business?"

"Scrivener."

"Why did you come to Krovitch?" The question was advanced suddenly, unexpectedly, as if to catch the chauffeur off his guard.

"I'm Captain Carter's man; you'd better arsk him." Carrick was displaying renewed signs of impatience.

Sobieska paused. He gravely turned to his associates, and, for their information, translated fairly and without comment what the chauffeur had said into French, with which language Sutphen and Muhlen-Sarkey seemed conversant.

"That you might correct any misstatements," he explained calmly to Carter.

"There was no need," replied the American. "You have been most impartial."

Evidently not yet satisfied with the results obtained from his preliminary investigations, he turned again to the Englishman, who seemed not a little mystified to find his domestic history so interesting to these lordly foreigners.

"Where is your father buried?" inquired Sobieska courteously.

"Dunno, sir. I was awye when 'e died. Landlidey said as 'ow a strange gent came, buried 'im an' took 'is hinsurance pipers awye with 'im. Sed 'e was the guvnor's brother."

"Did you ever see this uncle?" he asked suavely.

"No, sir. Never knew I 'ad one. Guvnor sed 'e was the only child."

"Did you claim the insurance?"

Carrick paused long before replying. When he spoke again his tone was decidedly hostile.

"What's all this got to do with my bein' a spy? These things about my guvnor an' me are personal matters. I don't see as 'ow I'm bound to answer such questions." His face reddened slowly and then he added impressively, "This much I'll admit to my own discredit, though."

Sobieska bent forward even more closely in anticipation.

"The guvnor an' me," continued Carrick, "didn't allus 'it hit off together, so you see I didn't know much about 'is affairs. I said hinsurance pipers, because they looked like 'em to me. They might not 'ave been, but the guvnor set a great store by 'em. Captain Carter can tell as 'ow I told 'im all this at Santiago." He turned to his master for confirmation.

"It is true," said the latter.

Still the Minister was not satisfied to relax his intimate investigations. Her Grace of Schallberg appeared an interested listener and had lost not a syllable of what had been said. The remaining Counselors were patiently expectant of translation as English was a closed door to them. Josef on the other hand would have gladly welcomed a divertisement though clearly afraid to inaugurate one. For some subtle reason he was very uneasy. Since Carrick's assertion that a stranger had purloined valuable papers from his father, the Gray Man had seemed to fear an unexpected revelation of some sort. Sobieska seemed to scent this secret fear and was willing to play with Josef's susceptibility.

"When did your father die?" asked the Count after a pause which had threatened to become intense, during which Josef had shifted uneasily.

"Fifteen years ago come the seventh of August."

"Where?"

"Twelve Tottinam Plyce, Whitechapel."

"Is the landlady living?"

"Now 'ow the devil should I know? I beg your pardon, again, Your Grace, but this man is badgerin' me orful." Her smile asked him to be patient so he turned to his inquisitor patiently.

"I 'aven't seen 'er since," he replied.

Josef felt this line of investigation had gone far enough and determined to stop it at all hazards. He coughed. Sobieska turned to him inquiringly, an amused smile in his eyes.

"Is all this important, Excellency?" the Gray Man asked deprecatingly, intimating that the issue had been forgotten. With a quiet drawl, containing both a reproof and a demurrer, Sobieska corrected him.

"Interesting," he said as he shot a covert glance at Josef which also held a challenge. Then as though in tacit compliance with the suggestion he turned not discourteously to Carter.

"Where did you get the title of Captain your man gave you a while ago?"

"I have no real right to it, never claim it," replied the American, "though at one time I bore it as of right in the Spanish-American war. It is the American habit never to let a man forget a title he has once won through merit."

Sobieska bowed.

"What brought you to Krovitch? It is outside the usual route of tourists."

For the fraction of a second the men gazed steadily at each other—possible antagonists appraising the other's chances. The question had been as hitherto in French for the benefit of the other auditors.

Careful to keep any appearance of apology from what he might say, yet scorning any other medium than the truth, Carter explained the motive for his coming to Krovitch. "An American's love of adventure—a wish to join your insurrection."

Even his inquisitor was startled by the boldness of the reply. The Counselors leaped to their feet and laid suggestive hands upon their swords. Trusia's face went white, while her hand clutched in terror at her throat. Then, seeing that Carter was in danger, with an effort she quickly recovered herself.

"Put up your swords, my lords," she commanded in distress. "Let him explain."

"What insurrection?" thundered a bristling Sutphen, seating himself stiffly erect, on the edge of his chair.

"I told you they were spies," Josef almost shouted in gratification. "Why else would they say such a thing except as a play for your confidence. Where would they learn our secret?"

Carter turned to Trusia.

"Pardon me, Your Grace, for my inept choice of words. I meant restoration, not insurrection." He bowed low as to the sovereign of Krovitch as he supposed her to be. Then raising his head he continued, "As for your secret, the world has already heard the rumors of the approaching war."

Then with effective repression he added, "My country's wars have always been for Freedom and Righteousness, never for aggrandizement. A nation's sentiments will animate her citizens. I heard rumors of a sister country in distress and longed to help her. I heard rumors. I find them confirmed. I am no spy. I am Adventure's cadet."

"How then did he hear or know of Count Zulka?" sneeringly suggested Josef. Carter noticed that again the momentarily favorable impression had been destroyed. Josef for some strange reason was aggressively opposed to a vindication of the two strangers in Krovitch.

"Your Grace, there was a club in New York City," Carter explained to Trusia, "of which Paul Zulka and myself were members. We were good friends. One year ago he left hurriedly. Knowing from his ardently expressed love for his birthplace and his outspoken hate for Russia that he would be in the front rank of any fight of Krovitch's, I naturally sought him for my voucher."

The chubby Purse Holder was anxious to question the accused. "What is the name of this club?" he asked.

"It is the Racquet Club."

The Holder of the Purse leaned back. With a satisfied air, Sutphen turned to him.

"That the club to which your nephew, Count Paul, belonged?" he asked.

"Yes," he said genially. "I am Paul Zulka's uncle," he explained to Carter.

"Did he ever mention a Calvert Carter as among his associates there?" queried a lenient Trusia.

The Holder of the Purse spread out two fat palms deprecatingly.

"How should I remember?" he said helplessly. "These English names are hard to bear in mind. Such things, ach! as I have had to remember in the last year." The burden was evidently appalling. "Yet," he added kindly, that he might do no injustice, "it might be so that he did."

"If Count Zulka were here"—began Carter confidently. He was interrupted by Her Grace of Schallberg who raised her hand for silence.