My mind was on the rack of doubt and distraction, but though I trusted Corramini not at all, I couldn't see why the most likely way to choose for the chase might not be the road to Hrvoya. Dalmar-Kalm must be more or less familiar with the neighbourhood, and might have acquaintances along the route who would help him. Corramini was watching the start, so I took the direction which, from some previous poring over local maps, I knew must lead towards Dalmar-Kalm's ruinous inheritance. This I did, lest he might have some means of communicating with his friend; but once out of his sight, I slowed down, and addressed every one I met, in Italian. Had a motor-car been seen driving this way during the afternoon? Several persons stared blankly, and did not brighten to intelligence when Italian was exchanged for faulty German; but we had not gone far when we caught up with a ricketty cab, whose driver was evidently dawdling homeward to shelter for the night. His pitch was, perhaps, near the quay, and if so he might be the very man I wanted. I hailed him, and fortunately he had a little Italian, and more French, of which he was innocently vain. "I have seen an automobile," said he, "but it was not coming this way. There cannot have been another, for till to-day we have seen no such thing since Prince Jaime de Bourbon drove here and up to Montenegro, which made a great excitement for every one some years ago. And this one to-day has also gone to Montenegro." I asked him to describe the vehicle, and not only did he give it all the characteristics of the Prince's car, but said that he had seen it slung on shore from a white yacht, which ended all doubt upon the motor's identity, unless by any chance he had been bribed by Dalmar-Kalm to mislead inquirers. This seemed a far-fetched supposition; but why should Montenegro be chosen as a destination? I asked this question aloud, half to myself, half to the Countess, and after a fashion she answered it from the tonneau. "Dear me, I can't think why on earth they should go there; but I believe I _do_ remember the Prince once saying, ever so long ago when we first talked of driving down into Dalmatia, that he had a friend in Montenegro--an Austrian Consul, though I don't know in what city there." "There's only one--the capital, Cettinje," I said mechanically, and my thoughts leaped ahead to the place I named. "The scoundrel!" I muttered under my breath. "Who, the Austrian Consul?" "No. For all I know, he may be a splendid fellow and probably is; he would never do the thing. But that beast might hope it." "What beast--what thing--hope what?" "I beg your pardon, Countess. I was talking to myself. Nothing that you would care to hear repeated." XXVI A CHAPTER OF HIGH DIPLOMACY I had heard travellers speak, and had read in books, of that mighty feat of engineering the road to Montenegro; but even so I was not prepared for the thrilling grandeur of that night drive in the mountains.