The simple dignity of the old man’s speech and manner impressed me immensely, but the eyes that glared from all around the table were not pleasant to see. “For what I have done,” said O’Hagan slowly, “I claim a reward: the immunity of the man I shall denounce!” The necessity for the words was rendered evident by the negative yell which answered them; it was, however, immediately checked by the President. “The reward you claim is a high one, monsieur,” he said, “and wholly contrary to the rules of our Order! But the service you have rendered is beyond all human recompense. Therefore I grant your request.” Some few murmurs arose; but a glance from the fiery old eyes restored complete silence. “The traitor,” announced O’Hagan, “is called Casimir!” “You lie!” screamed a man wearing a short, red beard, leaping madly to his feet. “Curse you! you lie!” O’Hagan focussed him through the monocle. “I was with the Grand Duke when you handed him the packet,” he said, with a sort of suppressed ferocity—“you brick-dust baboon!” “You were not!” shrieked the other. “The Grand Duke was alone——!” He stopped. His florid face blanched to a mottled white, and he dropped back, the picture of a rogue unmasked. Then: “You see, monsieur,” said O’Hagan to the President, “I have indicated your traitor and he has condemned himself; for the Grand Duke _was_ alone!” I expected a veritable pandemonium to burst upon us; but my expectation was not realised. The man seated beside Casimir turned, and with a cold smile, but blazing eyes, struck him deliberately across the face with his open hand. The outraged rascal bounded again to his feet; but a look around the silent company was enough. One quick glance he directed toward the old man, who stood with finger rigidly pointed to the door, and, head bent, he shuffled past us—and was gone. Then, certainly, a scene of the wildest enthusiasm ensued. Everybody present seemed bent upon embracing Leo; but, escaping from his excited fellows, he came and took both O’Hagan’s hands in his own, turning then to me, and shaking mine as warmly. “Gentlemen,” he said, in very fair English, “I will not attempt to thank you. I only thank God that there are such as you in the world!” “Devilish embarrassing!” O’Hagan confessed to me, later, “considering the real objective of the expedition—_id est_: supper!” “Here,” said my friend, “is something to which you have a better claim than I.” He handed Leo the ring. “To that brave lady you owe everything, sir; to us, nothing.” “She will always bless you,” said the other, kissing the ring reverently—“as I bless her! I do not know your names, gentlemen—nor, in the circumstances, ask them. But if ever Fate should lead you to Poland, the home of Count Leo Riersiwicz is _your_ home.” “Quite a charming little adventure,” said O’Hagan, as we passed westward; “save that one cannot sympathise with any man who elects to associate with such a crew of undesirable pole-cats.”