“That was the common impression.  He took his oldest son and went into exile.  Conjectures as to his whereabouts have filled the newspapers sporadically ever since.  He has been reported as appearing in the South Sea Islands, in India, in Australia, in various parts of this country.  In truth he came directly to America and established himself as a farmer in western Canada.  His son was killed in an accident; the Archduke died within the year.”

Judge Claiborne bent forward in his chair as Armitage paused.

“What proof have you of this story, Mr. Armitage?”

“I am prepared for such a question, gentlemen.  His identity I may establish by various documents which he gave me for the purpose.  For greater security I locked them in a safety box of the Bronx Loan and Trust Company in New York.  To guard against accidents I named you jointly with myself as entitled to the contents of that box.  Here is the key.”

As he placed the slim bit of steel on the table and stepped back to his old position on the hearth, they saw how white he was, and that his hand shook, and Dick begged him to sit down.

“Yes; will you not be seated, Monsieur?” said the Baron kindly.

“No; I shall have finished in a moment.  The Archduke gave those documents to me, and with them a paper that will explain much in the life of that unhappy gentleman.  It contains a disclosure that might in certain emergencies be of very great value.  I beg of you, believe that he was not a fool, and not a madman.  He sought exile for reasons—­for the reason that his son Francis, who has been plotting the murder of the new Emperor-king, is not his son!”

“What!” roared the Baron.

“It is as I have said.  The faithlessness of his wife, and not madness, drove him into exile.  He intrusted that paper to me and swore me to carry it to Vienna if Francis ever got too near the throne.  It is certified by half a dozen officials authorized to administer oaths in Canada, though they, of course, never knew the contents of the paper to which they swore him.  He even carried it to New York and swore to it there before the consul-general of Austria-Hungary in that city.  There was a certain grim humor in him; he said he wished to have the affidavit bear the seal of his own country, and the consul-general assumed that it was a document of mere commercial significance.”

The Baron looked at the key; he touched the silver box; his hand rested for a moment on the sword.

“It is a marvelous story—­it is wonderful!  Can it be true—­can it be true?” murmured the Ambassador.

“The documents will be the best evidence.  We can settle the matter in twenty-four hours,” said Judge Claiborne.

“You will pardon me for seeming incredulous, sir,” said the Baron, “but it is all so extraordinary.  And these men, these prisoners—­”