“It is the penalty of greatness.  It is Austria’s good fortune that you have devoted yourself to the affairs of government.  I have read—­only to-day, in the Contemporary Review—­an admirable tribute to your sagacity in handling the Servian affair.  Your work was masterly.  I followed it from the beginning with deepest interest.”

The old gentleman bowed half-unconsciously, for his thoughts were far away, as the vague stare in his small, shrewd eyes indicated.

“But you are here for rest—­one comes to Geneva at this season for nothing else.”

“What brings you here?” asked the old man with sudden energy.  “If the papers you gave me in Paris are forgeries and you are waiting—­”

“Yes; assuming that, what should I be waiting for?”

“If you are waiting for events—­for events!  If you expect something to happen!”

Armitage laughed at the old gentleman’s earnest manner, asked if he might smoke, and lighted a cigarette.

“Waiting doesn’t suit me.  I thought you understood that.  I was not born for the waiting list.  You see, I have strong hands—­and my wits are—­let us say—­average!”

Von Stroebel clasped his own hands together more firmly and bent toward Armitage searchingly.

“Is it true”—­he turned again and glanced about—­“is it positively true that the Archduke Karl is dead?”

“Yes; quite true.  There is absolutely no doubt of it,” said Armitage, meeting the old man’s eyes steadily.

“The report that he is still living somewhere in North America is persistent.  We hear it frequently in Vienna; I have heard it since you told me that story and gave me those papers in Paris last year.”

“I am aware of that,” replied John Armitage; “but I told you the truth.  He died in a Canadian lumber camp.  We were in the north hunting—­you may recall that he was fond of that sort of thing.”

“Yes, I remember; there was nothing else he did so well,” growled Von Stroebel.

“And the packet I gave you—­”

The old man nodded.

“—­that packet contained the Archduke Karl’s sworn arraignment of his wife.  It is of great importance, indeed, to Francis, his worthless son, or supposed son, who may present himself for coronation one of these days!”

“Not with Karl appearing in all parts of the world, never quite dead, never quite alive—­and his son Frederick Augustus lurking with him in the shadows.  Who knows whether they are dead?”

“I am the only person on earth in a position to make that clear,” said John Armitage.

“Then you should give me the documents.”

“No; I prefer to keep them.  I assure you that I have sworn proof of the death of the Archduke Karl, and of his son Frederick Augustus.  Those papers are in a box in the Bronx Loan and Trust Company, in New York City.”

“I should have them; I must have them!” thundered the old man.