"I wouldn't give my parole to you or any other of your kind," declared
Chester grimly.

"I'm sorry you feel that way about it," declared the ambassador, with a
deprecating gesture. "I assure you, I shall see that you are given safe
conduct back to Italy. But in the meantime, I can take no chances upon
your escaping."

"Do as you please," said Chester.

Again a captive, Chester left Venice.

In a first class compartment of the special train that was bearing the
Austrian ambassador and his staff rapidly toward Trieste was also
Chester, nursing a sore head, the result of trying to vanquish the
ambassador and the two other Austrians when the diplomat had ordered him
seized. The lad put up such a battle that one of his opponents had found
it necessary to tap him gently on top of the head with the butt of his
revolver. That had settled the argument, and when Chester returned to
consciousness he was aboard the special train, bound, and seated across
from the ambassador.

"Sorry we had to give you that crack on the head," the ambassador
continued, "but you wouldn't behave without it. Does it pain you much?"

"Not so much as the fact that you are a race lacking in all sense of
gratitude," replied Chester. "I wish now I had let you lie where you
were. The next time I shall keep my mouth shut, you can bet on that."