The perspiration on Claiborne’s face had made a paste of the dirt from the potato sack, which gave him a weird appearance.  He grinned broadly, adding a fantastic horror to his visage which caused Zmai to leap back toward the door.  Then Chauvenet cried aloud, a cry of anger, which brought Durand into the hall at a jump.  Claiborne shrugged his shoulders, shook the blood into his numbed arms; then turned his besmeared face toward Durand and laughed.  He laughed long and loud as the stupefaction deepened on the faces of the two men.

The objects which Durand held caused Claiborne to stare, and then he laughed again.  Durand had caught up from a hook in Armitage’s room a black cloak, so long that it trailed at length from his arms, its red lining glowing brightly where it lay against the outer black.  From the folds of the cloak a sword, plucked from a trunk, dropped upon the floor with a gleam of its bright scabbard.  In his right hand he held a silver box of orders, and as his arm fell at the sight of Claiborne, the gay ribbons and gleaming pendants flashed to the floor.

“It is not Armitage; we have made a mistake!” muttered Chauvenet tamely, his eyes falling from Claiborne’s face to the cloak, the sword, the tangled heap of ribbons on the floor.

Durand stepped forward with an oath.

“Who is the man?” he demanded.

“It is my friend Captain Claiborne.  We owe the gentleman an apology—­” Chauvenet began.

“You put it mildly,” cried Claiborne in English, his back to the fireplace, his arms folded, and the smile gone from his face.  “I don’t know your companions, Monsieur Chauvenet, but you seem inclined to the gentle arts of kidnapping and murder.  Really, Monsieur—­”

“It is a mistake!  It is unpardonable!  I can only offer you reparation—­anything you ask,” stammered Chauvenet.

“You are looking for John Armitage, are you?” demanded Claiborne hotly, without heeding Chauvenet’s words.  “Mr. Armitage is not here; he was in Storm Springs to-night, at my house.  He is a brave gentleman, and I warn you that you will injure him at your peril.  You may kill me here or strangle me or stick a knife into me, if you will be better satisfied that way; or you may kill him and hide his body in these hills; but, by God, there will be no escape for you!  The highest powers of my government know that I am here; Baron von Marhof knows that I am here.  I have an engagement to breakfast with Baron von Marhof at his house at eight o’clock in the morning, and if I am not there every agency of the government will be put to work to find you, Mr. Jules Chauvenet, and these other scoundrels who travel with you.”

“You are violent, my dear sir—­” began Durand, whose wits were coming back to him much quicker than Chauvenet’s.

“I am not as violent as I shall be if I get a troop of cavalry from Port Myer down here and hunt you like rabbits through the hills.  And I advise you to cable Winkelried at Vienna that the game is all off!”