Bellamy sighed.

"My dear Dorward," he said, "it is amazing to me that a man of your
experience should talk and behave like a baby. You've taken some
notice of your fellow-passengers, I suppose?"

"I've seen a few of them," Dorward answered carelessly. "What about
them?"

"Nothing much," Bellamy declared, "except that there are, to my
certain knowledge, three high officials of the Secret Police of
Austria in the next coupe but one, and at least four or five of
their subordinates somewhere on board the train."

Dorward withdrew his cigarette from his mouth and looked at his
friend keenly.

"I guess you're trying to scare me, Bellamy," he remarked.

But Bellamy was suddenly grave. There had come into his face an
utterly altered expression. His tone, when he spoke, was almost
solemn.

"Dorward," he said, "upon my honor, I assure you that what I have
told you is the truth. I cannot seem to make you realize the
seriousness of your position. When you left the Palace with that
paper in your pocket, you were, to all intents and purposes, a
doomed man. Your passport and your American citizenship count for
absolutely nothing. I have come in to warn you that if you have