Chauvenet suddenly jumped toward the table, the revolver still swinging at arm’s length.

“You know too much!”

“I don’t know any more than Armitage, and Baron von Marhof and my father, and the Honorable Secretary of State, to say nothing of the equally Honorable Secretary of War.”

Claiborne stretched out his arms and rested them along the shelf of the mantel, and smiled with a smile which the dirt on his face weirdly accented.  His hat was gone, his short hair rumpled; he dug the bricks of the hearth with the toe of his riding-boot as an emphasis of his contentment with the situation.

“You don’t understand the gravity of our labors.  The peace of a great Empire is at stake in this business.  We are engaged on a patriotic mission of great importance.”

It was Durand who spoke.  Outside, Zmai held the horses in readiness.

“You are a fine pair of patriots, I swear,” said Claiborne.  “What in the devil do you want with John Armitage?”

“He is a menace to a great throne—­an impostor—­a—­”

Chauvenet’s eyes swept with a swift glance the cloak, the sword, the scattered orders.  Claiborne followed the man’s gaze, but he looked quickly toward Durand and Chauvenet, not wishing them to see that the sight of these things puzzled him.

“Pretty trinkets!  But such games as yours, these pretty baubles—­are not for these free hills.”

“Where is John Armitage?”

Chauvenet half raised his right arm as he spoke and the steel of his revolver flashed.

Claiborne did not move; he smiled upon them, recrossed his legs, and settled his back more comfortably against the mantel-shelf.

“I really forget where he said he would be at this hour.  He and his man may have gone to Washington, or they may have started for Vienna, or they may be in conference with Baron von Marhof at my father’s, or they may be waiting for you at the gate.  The Lord only knows!”

“Come; we waste time,” said Durand in French.  “It is a trap.  We must not be caught here!”

“Yes; you’d better go,” said Claiborne, yawning and settling himself in a new pose with his back still to the fireplace.  “I don’t believe Armitage will care if I use his bungalow occasionally during my sojourn in the hills; and if you will be so kind as to leave my horse well tied out there somewhere I believe I’ll go to bed.  I’m sorry, Mr. Chauvenet, that I can’t just remember who introduced you to me and my family.  I owe that person a debt of gratitude for bringing so pleasant a scoundrel to my notice.”

He stepped to the table, his hands in his pockets, and bowed to them.

“Good night, and clear out,” and he waved his arm in dismissal.

“Come!” said Durand peremptorily, and as Chauvenet hesitated, Durand seized him by the arm and pulled him toward the door.