The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

--Walt Whitman.


Armitage dined alone that evening and left the hotel at nine o'clock for
a walk. He unaffectedly enjoyed paved ground and the sights and ways of
cities, and he walked aimlessly about the lighted thoroughfares of the
capital with conscious pleasure in the movement and color of life. He let
his eyes follow the Washington Monument's gray line starward; and he
stopped to enjoy the high-poised equestrian statue of Sherman, to which
the starry dusk gave something of legendary and Old World charm.

Coming out upon Pennsylvania Avenue he strolled past the White House,
and, at the wide-flung gates, paused while a carriage swept by him at the
driveway. He saw within the grim face of Baron von Marhof and
unconsciously lifted his hat, though the Ambassador was deep in thought
and did not see him. Armitage struck the pavement smartly with his stick
as he walked slowly on, pondering; but he was conscious a moment later
that some one was loitering persistently in his wake. Armitage was at
once on the alert with all his faculties sharpened. He turned and
gradually slackened his pace, and the person behind him immediately did
likewise.

The sensation of being followed is at first annoying; then a pleasant
zest creeps into it, and in Armitage's case the reaction was immediate.
He was even amused to reflect that the shadow had chosen for his exploit
what is probably the most conspicuous and the best-guarded spot in
America. It was not yet ten o'clock, but the streets were comparatively
free of people. He slackened his pace gradually, and threw open his