Arriving at the Austrian capital he had abundant evidence of the war weariness and social stagnation of the once gay city. Although he encountered several officers in German uniform none noticed him beyond exchanging punctilious salutes, compliments that were indulged in by the Austrian soldiery, but with ill-concealed reticence, for everywhere the idea was growing that the Dual Monarchy was being bled white at the behest of Germany.
That same evening the supplanter of the Kaiser's envoy found himself at Judenburg, a small town in Styria, almost under the shadow of the lofty Noric Alps. It was not his fault that he had not gone farther, but a slight landslip had rendered the railway unsafe at a short distance beyond the town, so perforce he had to remain.
Having secured a room at the chief hotel and signed the register, the Englishman was preparing for a quiet evening, when the aged waiter knocked at the door.
"Pardon, Herr Offizier," he exclaimed deferentially. "A gentleman to see you."
"A mistake," declared the fugitive in a loud voice. "I know no one here, nor do I want to see strangers."
"But it is a person of rank who would speak with you, mein herr. Behold his card!" And he tendered a piece of pasteboard on a wooden tray, for the hotel's silver salver had long since gone to augment the depleted coffers of the Emperor Karl.
The Englishman took the card. His eyebrows contracted as he read the name. Major Karl Hoffer, Officer-Commandant of the prison camp of Ostrovornik.
"I've been and gone and done it now," muttered the bogus baron. "This is the result of flying high. Fortunately he's a stranger to the real von Stopelfeld; but it seems as if I'm booked for the Ostrovornik trip. Another day wasted—hang it!"
"Show him in," he ordered, and snatching up his sword he hastily buckled his scabbard to the slings of his belt, twirled his waxed moustache (he had remarked the genuine baron's hirsute adornment, and his elaborately fitted dressing-case had proved very useful to its new owner) and adjusted the well-fitting tunic.
The jingle of spurs and the clank of a scabbard trailing a cross the oaken floor were the sounds that heralded the approach of the distinguished Austrian. The door was thrown wide open, and the waiter, in a joint capacity of major-domo, sonorously announced the name and title of the visitor.