A Maker of History. E. Phillips Oppenheim

coffee, sufficient for about a dozen people. The driver constituted himself host, and Guy, with a shout of laughter, sat down where he was, and ate. In the midst of the meal the officer reappeared, ushering in a small wizened-faced individual of unmistakably English appearance. Guy turned round in his chair, and the newcomer touched his forelock.

      "Hullo!" Guy exclaimed. "You're English!"

      "Yes, sir!" the man answered. "Came over to train polo ponies for the Prince of Haepsburg. Not in any trouble, I hope, sir?"

      "Not I," Guy answered cheerily. "Don't mind my going on with my breakfast, do you? What's it all about? Who's the gentleman with the fireman's helmet on, and what's he worrying about?"

      "He is an officer of the police, sir, on special service," the man answered. "You have been reported for trespassing on the State railway this morning."

      "Trespassing be blowed!" Guy answered. "I've got my ticket for the frontier. We were blocked by signal about half a dozen miles off this place, and I got down to stretch my legs. I understood them to say that we could not go on for half an hour or so. They never tried to stop my getting down, and then off they went without any warning, and left me there."

      "I will translate to the officer, sir," the man said.

      "Right!" Guy declared. "Go ahead."

      There was a brisk colloquy between the two. Then the little man began again.

      "He says that your train passed here at midnight, and that you did not arrive until past six."

      "Quite right!" Guy admitted. "I went to sleep. I didn't know how far it was to the station, and I was dead tired."

      "The officer wishes to know whether many trains passed you in the night?"

      "Can't say," Guy answered. "I sleep very soundly, and I never opened my eyes after the first few minutes."

      "The officer wishes to know whether you saw anything unusual upon the line?" the little man asked.

      "Nothing at all," Guy answered coolly. "Bit inquisitive, isn't he?"

      The little man came closer to the table.

      "He wishes to see your passport, sir," he announced.

      Guy handed it to him, also a letter of credit and several other documents.

      "He wants to know why you were going to the frontier, sir!"

      "Sort of fancy to say that I'd been in Russia, that's all!" Guy answered. "You tell him I'm a perfectly harmless individual. Never been abroad before."

      The officer listened, and took notes in his pocketbook of the passport and letter of credit. Then he departed with a formal salute, and they heard his horse's hoofs ring upon the road outside as he galloped away. The little man came close up to the table.

      "You'll excuse me, sir," he said, "but you seem to have upset the officials very much by being upon the line last night. There have been some rumors going about—but perhaps you're best not to know that. May I give you a word of advice, sir?"

      "Let me give you one," Guy declared. "Try this beer!"

      "I thank you, sir," the man answered. "I will do so with pleasure. But if you are really an ordinary tourist, sir—as I have no doubt you are—let this man drive you to Streuen, and take the train for the Austrian frontier. You may save yourself a good deal of unpleasantness."

      "I'll do it!" Guy declared. "Vienna was the next place I was going to, anyhow. You tell the fellow where to take me, will you?"

      The man spoke rapidly to the driver.

      "I think that you will be followed, sir," he added, turning to Guy, "but very likely they won't interfere with you. The railway last night for twenty miles back was held up for State purposes. We none of us know why, and it doesn't do to be too curious over here, but they have an idea that you are either a journalist or a spy."

      "Civis Britannicus sum!" the boy answered, with a laugh.

      "It doesn't quite mean what it used to, sir," the man answered quietly.

CHAPTER II

       Table of Contents

      AT THE CAFÉ MONTMARTRE

      Exactly a week later, at five minutes after midnight, Guy Poynton, in evening dress, entered the Café Montmartre, in Paris. He made his way through the heterogeneous little crowd of men and women who were drinking at the bar, past the scarlet-coated orchestra, into the inner room, where the tables were laid for supper. Monsieur Albert, satisfied with the appearance of his new client, led him at once to a small table, submitted the wine card, and summoned a waiter. With some difficulty, as his French was very little better than his German, he ordered supper, and then lighting a cigarette, leaned back against the wall and looked around to see if he could discover any English or Americans.

      The room was only moderately full, for the hour was a little early for this quarter of Paris. Nevertheless, he was quick to appreciate a certain spirit of Bohemianism which pleased him. Every one talked to his neighbor. An American from the further end of the room raised his glass and drank his health. A pretty fair-haired girl leaned over from her table and smiled at him.

      "Monsieur like talk with me, eh?"

      "English?" he asked.

      "No. De Wien!"

      He shook his head smilingly.

      "We shouldn't get on," he declared. "Can't speak the language."

      She raised her eyebrows with a protesting gesture, but he looked away and opened an illustrated paper by his side. He turned over the pages idly enough at first, but suddenly paused. He whistled softly to himself and stared at the two photographs which filled the sheet.

      "By Jove!" he said softly to himself.

      There was the rustling of skirts close to his table. An unmistakably English voice addressed him.

      "Is it anything very interesting? Do show me!"

      He looked up. Mademoiselle Flossie, pleased with his appearance, had paused on her way down the room.

      "Come and sit down, and I'll show it you!" he said, rising. "You're English, aren't you?"

      Mademoiselle Flossie waved a temporary adieu to her friends and accepted the invitation. He poured her out a glass of wine.

      "Stay and have supper with me," he begged. "I must be off soon, but I'm tired of being alone. This is my last night, thank goodness."

      "All right!" she answered gayly. "I must go back to my friends directly afterwards."

      "Order what you like," he begged. "I can't make these chaps understand me."

      She laughed, and called the waiter.

      "And now show me what you were looking at in that paper," she insisted.

      He pointed to the two photographs.

      "I saw those two together only a week ago," he said. "Want to hear about it?"

      She looked startled for a moment, and a little incredulous.

      "Yes, go on!" she said.

      He told her the story. She listened with an interest which surprised him. Once or twice when he looked up he fancied that the lady from Vienna was also doing her best to listen. When he had finished their supper had arrived.

      "I think," she said, as she helped herself to hors d'œuvre, "that you were very fortunate to get away."

      He laughed carelessly.

      "The joke of it is," he said, "I've been followed all the way here. One fellow, who pretended he got in at Strasburg,