“You do not! You certainly do not!” laughed Armitage; “but whom have you believed me to be, Monsieur?”
“I thought—”
“Yes; you thought—”
“I thought—there seemed reasons to believe—”
“Yes; and you believe it; go on!”
Chauvenet’s eyes blinked for a moment as he considered the difficulties of his situation. The presence of Baron von Marhof sobered him. America might not, after all, be so safe a place from which to conduct an Old World conspiracy, and this incident must, if possible, be turned to his own account. He addressed the Baron in German:
“This man is a designing plotter; he is bent upon mischief and treason; he has contrived an attempt against the noble ruler of our nation—he is a menace to the throne—”
“Who is he?” demanded Marhof impatiently; and his eyes and the eyes of all fell upon Armitage.
“I tell you we found him lurking about in Europe, waiting his chance, and we drove him away—drove him here to watch him. See these things—that sword—those orders! They belonged to the Archduke Karl. Look at them and see that it is true! I tell you we have rendered Austria a high service. One death—one death—at Vienna—and this son of a madman would be king! He is Frederick Augustus, the son of the Archduke Karl!”
The room was very still as the last words rang out. The old Ambassador’s gaze clung to Armitage; he stepped nearer, the perspiration breaking out upon his brow, and his lips trembled as he faltered: