But this desire took him out of the long galleries of the Reichs Museum into the slums of Weidenbruck, into the purlieus of the Goose-market and the Grassmarket, and into the network of narrow alleys round about the Schugasse. But the face and figure that were in his mind's eye refused to grace his bodily sight, and so,--having lost himself half a dozen times and gained a magnificent appetite,--he took a sleigh and drove back to the Hôtel Concordia. In the middle of his meal Saunders arrived, and told him at full length of his morning's adventures. And, as Saunders had expected, Trafford's disappointment at having missed the exhilarating rencontre with Father Bernhardt was palpable and forcibly expressed. "Confound your beastly luck!" he said. "And, I suppose,--thanks to your brilliant shooting, and tactful diplomacy,--the King got away." "He got home safely with my wife and General Meyer three-quarters of an hour before I did," replied Saunders, ignoring the sarcasm. "They held up a train on the big stone viaduct, and I and Von Hügelweiler tapped one at a small station called Henduck. It is a pity you were not with us, Nervy." Trafford ground his teeth. His companion was very irritating. "What about this afternoon?" he asked despairingly. "I'm afraid there won't be any excitements this afternoon," replied Saunders blandly. "I've got to accompany Karl to a bazaar in aid of distressed gentle-women. As you are dining to-night at the palace, we shall, of course, meet. Au revoir till then. You might well have another look at those Dürers." "D---- the Dürers!" said Trafford angrily, as his friend left the dining-room. "And hang Saunders for a selfish brute!" he added to himself. "He lures me out to this infernal country, and then sends me to picture galleries and museums while he shoots people ski-jumping over his head." And with the air of an aggrieved man Trafford kindled an enormous cigar and sauntered forth into the hall. As he did so, he was approached by the concierge. "A letter, mein Herr," said the official: "a messenger left it a moment ago." Trafford took it, and as he read his eyes opened in astonishment, and his mouth in satisfaction. "_Dear Herr Trafford_," it ran. "_This is to thank you for what you did for me last night. You fight as well as you skate--and that is saying much. If you will meet me at the Collection of Instruments of Torture in the Strafeburg at three o'clock this afternoon, I shall try to be as fascinating as you could wish me--and take back any unkind word I may have spoken._" _G.V.S._"