“This is infamous!  This is an outrage!  Baron von Marhof, as an Austrian subject, I appeal to you for protection from this man!”

“Monsieur, you shall have all the protection Baron von Marhof cares to give you; but first I wish to ask you a question—­just one.  You followed me to America with the fixed purpose of killing me.  You sent a Servian assassin after me—­a fellow with a reputation for doing dirty work—­and he tried to stick a knife into me on the deck of the King Edward.  I shall not recite my subsequent experiences with him or with you and Monsieur Durand.  You announced at Captain Claiborne’s table at the Army and Navy Club in Washington that I was an impostor, and all the time, Monsieur, you have really believed me to be some one—­some one in particular.”

Armitage’s eyes glittered and his voice faltered with intensity as he uttered these last words.  Then he thrust his hand into his coat pocket, stepped back, and concluded: 

“Who am I, Monsieur?”

Chauvenet shifted uneasily from one foot to another under the gaze of the five people who waited for his answer; then he screamed shrilly: 

“You are the devil—­an impostor, a liar, a thief!”

Baron von Marhof leaped to his feet and roared at Chauvenet in English: 

“Who is this man?  Whom do you believe him to be?”

“Answer and be quick about it!” snapped Claiborne.

“I tell you”—­began Chauvenet fiercely.

“Who am I?” asked Armitage again.

“I don’t know who you are—­”

“You do not!  You certainly do not!” laughed Armitage; “but whom have you believed me to be, Monsieur?”

“I thought—­”

“Yes; you thought—­”

“I thought—­there seemed reasons to believe—­”

“Yes; and you believe it; go on!”

Chauvenet’s eyes blinked for a moment as he considered the difficulties of his situation.  The presence of Baron von Marhof sobered him.  America might not, after all, be so safe a place from which to conduct an Old World conspiracy, and this incident must, if possible, be turned to his own account.  He addressed the Baron in German: 

“This man is a designing plotter; he is bent upon mischief and treason; he has contrived an attempt against the noble ruler of our nation—­he is a menace to the throne—­”

“Who is he?” demanded Marhof impatiently; and his eyes and the eyes of all fell upon Armitage.

“I tell you we found him lurking about in Europe, waiting his chance, and we drove him away—­drove him here to watch him.  See these things—­that sword—­those orders!  They belonged to the Archduke Karl.  Look at them and see that it is true!  I tell you we have rendered Austria a high service.  One death—­one death—­at Vienna—­and this son of a madman would be king!  He is Frederick Augustus, the son of the Archduke Karl!”

The room was very still as the last words rang out.  The old Ambassador’s gaze clung to Armitage; he stepped nearer, the perspiration breaking out upon his brow, and his lips trembled as he faltered: