(“That expression marked the psychological moment, Raymond,” he later was good enough to inform me. “I was deliberately tightening the screw. If he submitted. I knew that the man was mine.”) The Grand Duke glared for a moment. Then: “No; you are right!” he agreed, grudgingly. Bernard O’Hagan would be a dazzling ornament to the diplomatic service. One can imagine his prevailing upon the united monarchies of Europe to present a fleet of dreadnoughts to Great Britain as a little token of esteem. Is it necessary, by the way, that I mention here how all this extraordinary conversation was so much Sanscrit to me? I think not. I perceived no gleam of light through the darkness. I was a man in a tunnel leading he knows not whither, surrounded by he knows not what. My bewildered surmisings had come to a hazy meridian, I think, when the car drew up before the embassadorial residence. “If he is at home, what excuse shall I make for my call?” asked the Grand Duke. “Any excuse!” said O’Hagan drily. “You may profess to have heard rumours that he is troubled with a return of his gout——” “He has no gout!” “His wife’s gout, then! Anything—anything!” Grunting uncouthly, the Grand Duke alighted and disappeared in the darkness. Coincident with the footman’s reclosure of the door, burst forth my dammed up torrent of queries. “_Ssh!_” O’Hagan raised his hand. “I will explain later, Raymond. Exhibit no surprise. Merely agree with me—tacitly agree!” “But where did——” “_Ssh!_”—impatiently. “These servants are spies!” I felt curiously like a screw-stoppered bottle of some highly aerated mineral, which has been partially unscrewed. Questions literally _sizzled_ from me. But I must perforce contain myself; and we were presently rejoined by the Grand Duke. He glanced up and down the street ere entering. Giving a brief order to the man: “Where are they?” he growled, as he took his seat. “They have left their car,” replied my friend; “but two of them are in hiding near the corner.” “Do you know either of these?” “_He_ is one!” said O’Hagan impressively. “Whom?” snapped the Grand Duke. Now, Captain O’Hagan is rarely at a loss for the right word at the right time. He holds it churlish to stammer and stutter, and wholly inconsistent with that grand manner of which, if I be not mistaken, he is the only surviving master. Yet, now, he seemed somewhat taken aback. Later, I understood why. But—— “Need you ask?” he returned, with very brief hesitancy. “Not Leo?” the Grand Duke demanded, hoarsely. O’Hagan smiled and inclined his head. The Siresian nobleman struck his huge fist into the palm of his hand, furiously. He was a truly formidable man. “Curse him ten thousand times!” he shouted, wildly. “How has _he_ found out that I have them?” “I fear you have been indiscreet, Duke,” murmured O’Hagan. “Indiscreet!” roared the Grand Duke. “Not a living soul can have seen me meet Casimir! Ah, but——” He broke off, evidently struck by a new idea.