GRAFTON went into the public square, opposite the hotel, and walked up and down under the trees. Schemes plausible and schemes fantastical crowded his brain; the wildest was as practicable as the most sensible. He cursed his lack of ingenuity. He felt that the intensity of his love for Erica was paralyzing thought. “In matters about which I care nothing,” he said to himself, “I can always think of something to do.” And now he could think of no plan which he did not almost instantly dismiss. He could not even devise a scheme for seeing Ernestine. To go to her would be fatal, as the secret police would go with him, were no doubt watching her.

He seated himself on a bench at the other end of which was an American tourist. There was a certain sense of companionship, of strength, in the nearness of a man from “home” at such a time. He noted that his fellow-countryman was a youth of the unmistakable American type—tall, thin, with a narrow, shrewd, frank face. The longer he looked at him the better he liked him. After perhaps twenty minutes the young American rose to go.

“Please sit again without looking at me or seeming to notice me,” said Grafton, not moving his lips.

The young American involuntarily glanced at him, but looked away instantly. He seated himself, yawned, took out his cigarette-case, lighted a cigarette, and began smoking languidly. A newsboy passed; Grafton stopped him and bought a paper. He rested his elbows on his knees, and so held the paper that his face could not be seen, yet was apparently not designedly hid.

“My name is Frederick Grafton, and I’m from Chicago,” he said. “I’ve fallen in love with a girl here, and—well, there’s the devil to pay. I’m being watched; her family’s got a lot of influence. It is vital that I see her maid. She lives at No. 643 Emperor Ferdinand Second Street, over the bake-shop. Her name is Ernestine Wundsch. Describe me to her and tell her to come and sit on the end of this bench, or, better, send some one she can trust absolutely. Probably she’s watched, so be careful not to go directly there from here. Will you help me? On my honor there is nothing in this affair which, if you knew it, would make you hesitate.”

Grafton straightened up and could see from the corner of his eye that his countryman was studying his face. “I’ll risk it,” said the youth, rising and lounging away.

Soon Grafton began to watch the faces of passing women. After nearly an hour a working-man came and sat on the other end of the bench. Grafton scowled at him, but he sat placidly smoking his pipe. At last he said: “Ernestine, my sister, did not dare come. She sent me by the back way. She says nothing can be done. I waited to be sure it was you.”

At this moment Grafton saw Moltzahn coming towards him. “Wait,” he said to Ernestine’s brother. “Don’t move until I’ve spoken to you again.”

Moltzahn advanced towards him and bowed politely, much to Grafton’s surprise. “I know that you are watched,” he said to Grafton. “As I have something to communicate to you, we must seem to meet as friendly acquaintances and to be talking on indifferent subjects. Will you walk with me a few minutes, please?”

There was a thinly veiled contempt in Moltzahn’s tone which made Grafton feel like kicking him. But in the circumstances he would have been civil to Aloyse himself in the hope of laying hold of something that would bring him nearer Erica. He rose, and they began a slow promenade.

“His Royal Highness, the Inheriting Grand Duke, has made me the reluctant bearer of a challenge to you. I have tried to dissuade him, but he is determined to punish you for your insults. He waives the difference in rank, the fact that he has no right to send a challenge to such as you.”

“It will be a great pleasure,” said Grafton, with grim joy. “I, too, will waive the difference of rank—the fact that he is not a gentleman.”

“It is impossible for me to answer you as you deserve—”

“You couldn’t say anything that would disturb the friendly feeling I have for you,” said Grafton. “You don’t know how grateful I am to you for bringing me this—this opportunity. I could almost—yes, I think I could—shake hands with you.”

“What weapons?” said Moltzahn. “But have you a second?”“I shall have one—and I choose pistols.”

“I suggest that the meeting be at a little town on the Swiss border—Zoltenau. Do you know it?”

“Yes; I shall be there.”

“The circumstances make it impossible to follow the formalities and arrange through your second. When can you be there?”

“Whenever you say.”

“Then at three to-morrow morning. We shall be on the main road about a hundred yards from the last house—the inn—at the eastern end of the village. But will you be able to evade the police?”

“Easily; I shall be there.”

They bowed, Moltzahn went his way, Grafton returned to the bench. With his face concealed, he said to the working-man: “In case I should wish to send a message to Ernestine for her mistress, is there an address that would be safe?”

“Johann Windmuller, 41 Duke Albrecht Street,” he answered.

“Very well. And if there should be any news for me, send a letter or telegram to Victor Brandt, care the American Consul, Schaffhausen. Can you remember that?”

“Yes,” said the man, and he repeated it twice.

Grafton sent him away; he felt that the police could not have suspected. He went to the hotel and in the smoking-room, near the entrance, found the American youth. Grafton dropped into a seat beside him. “Thank you,” he said. “May I ask who has done me this great service?”

“My name is Burroughs; I come from San Francisco.”They discovered that they had many acquaintances and a few friends in common, and both belonged to the same club in New York. Burroughs, who was seven or eight years younger than Grafton, and just out of college, had often heard of him.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Grafton. “Since I saw you I’ve engaged to fight a duel at three to-morrow morning, and I need a second.”

“I’d be pleased if you’d accept me, though I’ve had no experience.”

“But I warn you that it may be an ugly business before it’s ended, though I think I can arrange to get you out of it. I mean to kill my man and his death’ll make a row in this part of the world.”

“I’ll see you through,” said Burroughs.

Grafton took him to his rooms, and, having tested him thoroughly, gave him his entire confidence. When he had finished the story, Burroughs said: “I feel that you’re going to win out.” His eyes were sparkling with excitement. “But don’t kill him; remember, he’s her cousin. She might balk at marrying you if you’d killed her cousin.”

Grafton thought for a few minutes. “That gives me an idea—that remark of yours. We’ll talk it over to-night.”

As Zoltenau was about midway between the town of Zweitenbourg and BÂle—a score of miles from each—they decided to evade the Grand Duke’s spies by going to BÂle. Burroughs went on the seven-o’clock train to arrange for a doctor and a carriage. Grafton, leaving on the nine-o’clock express, bought places in the bed-car for Venice. At BÂle he dropped from the car as the train was passing out at the end of the station. His servant went on with the baggage, to return by a roundabout route to Schaffhausen and there await the arrival of Victor Brandt.