"No doubt about it," returned the other, as he loosed his sword in its scabbard. "He cannot escape us."
Then the force of cavalry, infantry and artillery in attendance raised a stealthy cheer. It had been difficult to bring the charges home to the accused, but they had succeeded. It seemed impossible to prove his identity, but now they had surrounded him. It was only a question of a few minutes, and he would be their prisoner.
The detectives entered the café. They looked around them. They could see no one answering to his description. All who were there had black beards, black shaggy hair. They could see no red tresses, no yellow Dundreary whiskers and prominent front teeth. Where could he be?
"Yes, there is one diner who has ordered a singular meal," replied a garçon, in reply to a question. "He has asked for turtle-soup, raw herrings, raw beef, raw mutton chops, plum-pudding and a barrel of porter-beer."
"It must be he," cried the detectives, in a breath; "only an Englishman would want such a meal."
"And he asked for the Times and Punch," added the waiter.
"Proof conclusive of nationality;" and in a moment the man was surrounded and seized.
"You dare not touch me," he shouted, battling with his captors. "I am sacred, and if you offer violence you pledge your country to a terrible war!"
Impressed by the stranger's vehemence, the detectives released him. Once free, he threw off his black wig, took off his false nose, and put on his blue spectacles. Then he gazed around him proudly.
"We ask your pardon, M. l'Ambassadeur," said the police.