his danger, and shrank back so far as his chair allowed, but the point
of the sword followed him.

"What do you mean by that?" he gasped.

"I mean to show you that in this game iron is superior to gold. Your
card is on the table, represented by that bag. Mine is still in my hand,
and unplayed, but it takes the trick, I think. I hope you see the
uselessness of resistance. You cannot even cry out, for at the first
attempt a thrust of this blade cuts the very roots of utterance. It will
be quite easy for me to escape, because I shall go quietly out with the
bag under my cloak, telling the porter that you do not wish to be
disturbed."

"It is the Prince of Thieves you are, then," said Herr Goebel.

"So it would appear. With your right hand pass that bag of gold across
the table, and beg of me to accept it."

The merchant promptly did what he was told to do.

The young man put his sword back in its place, laughing joyously, but
there was no answering smile on the face of Herr Goebel. As he had said,
the condition of things in Frankfort, especially in that room, failed to
make for merriment. Roland, without being invited, drew up a chair, and
sat down at the opposite side of the table.

"Please do not attempt to dash for the door," he warned, "because I can
quite easily intercept you, as I am nearer to it than you are, and more
active. Call philosophy to your aid, and take whatever happens calmly. I