“I’m afraid he could. And, really, Mr. Carroll, he’s correct in principle. In the present state of political feeling, an assault by an American upon the representative of Hochwald might seriously endanger all of your party.” “That’s right,” Cluff supported him. “I’m with you in wanting to break that gold-frilled geezer’s face up into small sections, but it just won’t do.” With an effort, Carroll recovered his self-control. “Mr. Raimonda,” he said courteously, “I give _you_ my word that there will be no trouble between Herr Von Plaanden and myself, of my seeking, until Mr. and Miss Brewster are safely out of the country.” “That’s enough,” said Cluff heartily. “The rest of us can take care of ourselves.” “Meantime,” said Raimonda, “I think the whole matter can be arranged. Von Plaanden shall apologize to Miss Brewster to-morrow. It is not his first outbreak, and always he regrets. My uncle, who is of the Foreign Office, will see to it.” “Then that’s settled,” remarked Perkins cheerfully. Carroll turned upon him savagely:— “To your entire satisfaction, no doubt, now that you’ve shown yourself an informer as well as—” “Easy with the rough stuff, Mr. Carroll,” advised Cluff, his good-natured face clouding. “We’re all a little het up. Let’s have a drink, and cool down.” “With you, with pleasure. I shall hope to meet you later, Mr. Perkins,” he added significantly. “Well, I hope not,” retorted the other. “My voice is still for peace. Meantime, please assure Miss Brewster for me—” “I warned you to keep that lady’s name from your lips.” “You did. But I don’t know by what authority. You’re not her father, I suppose. Are you her brother, by any chance?” As he spoke, Perkins experienced that curious feeling that some invisible person was trying to catch his eye. Now, as he turned directly upon Carroll, his glance, passing over his shoulder, followed a broad ray of light spreading from a second-story leaf-framed balcony of the hotel. There was a stir amid the greenery. The face of the Voice appeared, framed in flowers. Its features lighted up with mirth, and the lips formed the unmistakable monosyllable: “Boo!” The identification was complete—“Boo to a goose.” “Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll!” Unwittingly he spoke the name aloud, and, unfortunately, laughed. To a less sensitive temperament, even, than Carroll’s, the provocation would have been extreme. Perkins was recalled to a more serious view of the situation by the choking accents of that gentleman. “Take off your glasses!” “What for?” “Because I’m going to thrash you within an inch of your life!” “Gentlemen, gentlemen!” cried the young Caracuñan. “This is no place for such an affair.”