"With all due respect to our American host, I must say that a title in
America goes further than anywhere else in the world. I was at Bar Harbor
three years ago when the Baron von Kissel devastated that region. He made
sad havoc among the ladies that summer; the rest of us simply had no
place to stand. You remember, gentlemen,"--and Chauvenet looked slowly
around the listening circle,--"that the unexpected arrival of the
excellent Ambassador of Austria-Hungary caused the Baron to leave Bar
Harbor between dark and daylight. The story was that he got off in a
sail-boat; and the next we heard of him he was masquerading under some
title in San Francisco, where he proved to be a dangerous forger. You all
remember that the papers were full of his performances for a while, but
he was a lucky rascal, and always disappeared at the proper psychological
moment. He had, as you may say, the cosmopolitan accent, and was the most
plausible fellow alive."

Chauvenet held his audience well in hand, for nearly every one remembered
the brilliant exploits of the fraudulent baron, and all were interested
in what promised to be some new information about him. Armitage,
listening intently to Chauvenet's recital, felt his blood quicken, and
his face flushed for a moment. His cigarette case lay upon the edge of
the table, and he snapped it shut and fingered it nervously as he
listened.

"It's my experience," continued Chauvenet, "that we never meet a person
once only--there's always a second meeting somewhere; and I was not at
all surprised when I ran upon my old friend the baron in Germany last
fall."

"At his old tricks, I suppose," observed some one.