“That was your chance to startle him a trifle, I should say,” remarked the German.
“He was the man, beyond doubt. There was no mistaking the cigarette ease. What I said was,”—continued Chauvenet,—“‘Allow me, Baron!’”
“Well spoken!” exclaimed the Spanish officer.
“Not so well, either,” laughed Chauvenet. “He had the best of it—he’s a clever man, I am obliged to admit! He said—” and Chauvenet’s mirth stifled him for a moment.
“Yes; what was it?” demanded the German impatiently.
“He said: ‘Thank you, waiter!’ and put the cigarette case back into his pocket!”
They all laughed. Then Captain Claiborne’s eyes fell upon the table and rested idly on John Armitage’s cigarette case—on the smoothly-worn gold of the surface, on the snowy falcon and the silver helmet on which the bird poised. He started slightly, then tossed his napkin carelessly on the table so that it covered the gold trinket completely.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “if we are going to show ourselves at the Darlington ball we’ll have to run along.”
Below, in the coat room, Claiborne was fastening the frogs of his military overcoat when Armitage, who had waited for the opportunity, spoke to him.
“That story is a lie, Claiborne. That man never saw me or my cigarette case in Berlin; and moreover, I was never at Bar Harbor in my life. I gave you some account of myself on the King Edward—every word of it is true.”