Suddenly an atmosphere of unrest and agitation conveyed itself to him. The train was slowing down in the darkness; the lady opposite was leaning forward, her face pale, her whole attitude tense with excitement. The train stopped; outside someone was walking along the metals; there came the sound of a guttural remark. The lady put her hand to her heart and, turning to the elderly gentleman, gasped, "Doctor, that was his voice. They have tracked us." The old man rose quietly and, opening the far door, stood waiting. "But the child?" she cried with a sob. "He must be left behind, Madame. There is less danger thus." "But what am I to do?" She turned to Mr. Jones, looked at him steadily and fixedly, and then, as if satisfied with what she read in him, exclaimed, "You have a good heart. You must keep him. Do not let them have him; too much depends upon it." And before the astonished cashier had time to protest his fellow-travellers had gone and he was alone with the child. But not for long. Just as the train commenced to move again three men entered the compartment; two appeared to be servants, but the third was a young man of distinguished appearance, the most conspicuous items of whose attire were a dark Homburg hat and a long cape of Continental cut. Mr. Jones's heart missed a beat. Throwing a searching glance around the compartment the stranger rapped out, "There has been a lady in here?" "No," replied Mr. Jones, on general principles. For answer the stranger picked a cambric handkerchief off the floor. "That's mine," said Mr. Jones hastily. "Perhaps," was the sneering reply, "you will tell me also that the child is yours." "Certainly," said Mr. Jones, ruffled by his cross-examination; "it always has been." The stranger snorted contemptuously. "You are good at explanations. Perhaps you can explain this." Mr. Jones looked down at the baby's coat. To his amazement he beheld a crown and monogram embroidered on it. "That," he replied, taking refuge in fatuity, "is the laundry mark." "Come, come, enough of this fooling. Give me the child." Mr. Jones took no notice. "Give me the child, I say." Mr. Jones paled but did not move. "Very good, then." The stranger turned to his attendants. "Rupert, Rudolph," he said. Two revolver barrels flashed out. Mr. Jones stood up hastily, the child clutched tightly in his arms. "What do you mean by threatening me like this? What right have you to the child? I never heard of such a thing; I shall inform the police." "Porkhound," yelled the stranger, "do you defy me? me, Count Achtung von Eisenbahn? Give me the babe. I must have him. I will have him. He is ours--our Prince Fritz, the last of the Hohenzollerns." The great moment had come. Jones's face lit up. Death--a hero's death--might claim him, but he would make democracy safe for the world.