"An invitation to the military ball at the palace, after the maneuvers," quietly.
Carmichael sat up. He had not expected so large an order as this.
"I am afraid you are asking something impossible for me to obtain," he replied coldly, thumbing the leaves of his book.
"Ah, Mr. Carmichael, it is very important that I should be there."
"Explain."
"I can give you no explanations. I wish to attend this ball. I do not care to meet the grand duke or any one else. Put me in the gallery where I shall not be noticed. That is all I ask of you."
"That might be done. But you have roused my curiosity. Your request is out of the ordinary. You have some purpose?"
"A perfectly harmless one," said Grumbach, mopping his forehead.
This movement brought Carmichael's eye to the scar. Grumbach acknowledged the stare by running his finger along the subject.
"I came near passing in my checks the day I got that," he volunteered. "Everybody looks at it when I take off my hat. I've tried tonics, but the hair won't grow there."