"I have been at this post only two years, but I am, of course, familiar with the facts of that case." He paused, then added with irrelevance: "It may be that you bear a somewhat striking resemblance to this particularly disreputable conspirator. Of course, that's possible, but--" "But highly improbable," admitted Saxon. "Oh, you are not that man! That can be mathematically demonstrated," asserted Mr. Pendleton suddenly. "I was only reflecting on the fallibility of circumstantial evidence. I am a lawyer, and once, as district attorney, I convicted a man on such evidence. He's in the penitentiary now, and it set me wondering if--" But Saxon stood dumfounded, vainly trying to speak. His face was white, and he had seized the envoy by the arm with a grip too emphatic for diplomatic etiquette. "Do you know what you are saying?" he shouted. "I am not that man! How do you know that?" "I know it," responded Mr. Pendleton calmly, "because the incident of the firing-squad occurred five years ago--and the embezzlement only four years back." Saxon remained staring in wide-eyed amazement. He felt his knees grow suddenly weak, and the blood cascaded through the arteries of his temples. Then, he turned, and, dropping again to the edge of the cot, covered his face with his hands. "You see," explained Mr. Pendleton, "there is only one ground upon which any charge against you can be reinstated--an impeachment of your evidence as to how you have put in the past five years. And," he smilingly summarized, "since the case comes before this court solely on your self-accusation, since you have journeyed some thousands of miles merely to prosecute yourself, I regard your evidence on that point as conclusive." Later, the envoy, with his arm through that of the liberated prisoner, walked out past deferential sentries into the Plaza. "And, now, the blockade being run," he amiably inquired, "what are your plans?" "Plans!" exclaimed Saxon scornfully; "plans, sir, is plural. I have only one: to catch the next boat that's headed north. Why," he explained, "there is soon going to be an autumn in the Kentucky hills with all the woods a blaze of color." The minister's eyes took on a touch of nostalgia. "I guess there's nothing much the matter with the autumn in Indiana, either," he affirmed. They walked on together at a slow gait, for the morning sun was already beginning to beat down as if it were focused through a burning-glass. "And say," suggested Mr. Pendleton at last, "if you ever get to a certain town in Indiana called Vevay, which is on some of the more complete maps, walk around for me and look at the Davis building. You won't see much--only a hideous two-story brick, with a metal roof and dusty windows, but my shingle used to hang out there--and it's in God's country!"