they win, for he's the only man that can straighten out the tangle.
And if his Government are warned he won't come, for he does not
know how big the stakes will be on June the 15th.'

'What about the British Government?' I said. 'They're not going
to let their guests be murdered. Tip them the wink, and they'll take
extra precautions.'

'No good. They might stuff your city with plain-clothes detectives
and double the police and Constantine would still be a
doomed man. My friends are not playing this game for candy. They
want a big occasion for the taking off, with the eyes of all Europe
on it. He'll be murdered by an Austrian, and there'll be plenty of
evidence to show the connivance of the big folk in Vienna and
Berlin. It will all be an infernal lie, of course, but the case will look
black enough to the world. I'm not talking hot air, my friend. I
happen to know every detail of the hellish contrivance, and I can
tell you it will be the most finished piece of blackguardism since the
Borgias. But it's not going to come off if there's a certain man who
knows the wheels of the business alive right here in London on the
15th day of June. And that man is going to be your servant,
Franklin P. Scudder.'

I was getting to like the little chap. His jaw had shut like a rat-
trap, and there was the fire of battle in his gimlety eyes. If he was
spinning me a yarn he could act up to it.

'Where did you find out this story?' I asked.

'I got the first hint in an inn on the Achensee in Tyrol. That set me