“And has the Colonel not been here?” “Who is the Colonel?” “Chamberlayne.” “And who is Chamberlayne.” “That _is_ cool, certainly; I think a man might acknowledge his godfather.” “Whose godfather is he?” “Yours,--your own. Perhaps you 'll deny that you were christened after him, and called Chamberlayne?” Skeffy threw up his embroidered cap in the air at these words, and, flinging himself on a sofa, actually screamed with laughter. “Tony,” cried he at last, “this will immortalize you. Of all the exploits performed by messengers, this one takes the van.” “Look here, Damer,” said Tony, sternly; “I have told you already I 'm in no laughing humor. I 've had enough here to take the jollity out of me”--and he shook the letter in his hand--“for many a day to come; so that whatever you have to say to me, bear in mind that you say it to one little disposed to good-humor. Is it true that you have not received these despatches?” “Perfectly true.” “Then how are we to trace him? His name is Colonel Moore Chamberlayne, aide-de-camp to the Lord High Commissioner, Corfu.” Skeffy bit his lip, and by a great effort succeeded in repressing the rising temptation to another scream of laughter, and, taking down a bulky red-covered volume from a shelf, began to turn over its pages. “There,” said he at last,--“there is the Whole staff at Corfu: Hailes, Winchester, Corbett, and Ainslie. No Chamberlayne amongst them.” Tony stared at the page in hopeless bewilderment. “What do you know of him? Who introduced you to each other? Where did you meet?” asked Skeffy. “We met at the foot of the Mont Cenis, where, seeing that I had despatches, and no means to get forward, he offered me a seat in his calèche. I accepted gladly, and we got on capitally; he was immense fun; he knew everybody, and had been everywhere; and when he told me that he was your godfather--” “Stop, stop! for the love of Heaven, will you stop, or you 'll kill me!” cried Skeffy; and, throwing himself on his back on the sofa, he flung his legs into the air, and yelled aloud with laughter. “Do you know, Master Darner, I'm sorely tempted to pitch you neck and crop out of the window?” said Tony, savagely. “Do so, do so, by all means, if you like; only let me have my laugh out, or I shall burst a blood-vessel.” Tony made no reply, but walked up and down the room with his brow bent and his arms folded. “And then?” cried Skeff,--“and then? What came next?” “It is your opinion, then,” said Tony, sternly, “that this fellow was a swindler, and not on the Staff at all?” “No more than he was my godfather!” cried Darner, wiping his eyes. “And that the whole was a planned scheme to get hold of the despatches?” “Of course. Filangieri knows well that we are waiting for important instructions here. There is not a man calls here who is not duly reported to him by his secret police.”