to the station,” Stewart protested.

“No, no,” said Bloem; “you must not do that. I am to meet my cousin. Good-by. Lebe wohl!”

“Good-by—and good luck!” and Stewart wrung the hand thrust into his. “You have been most kind to me.”

Bloem answered only with a little shake of the [Pg 14]head; then turned resolutely and hastened from the terrace.

[Pg 14]

Stewart sank back into his seat more moved than he would have believed possible by this parting from a man whom, a fortnight before, he had not known at all. Poor Bloem! To what fate was he being hurried! A cultured man graded down to the level of the hind; a gentleman set to the task of slaughter; a democrat driven to fight in defense of the divine right of kings! But could such a fight succeed? Was any power strong enough to drag back the hands of time——

And then Stewart started violently, for someone had touched him on the shoulder. He looked up to find standing over him a tall man in dark blue uniform and wearing a spiked helmet.

“Your pardon, sir,” said the man in careful English; “I am an agent of the police. I must ask you certain questions.”

“Very well,” agreed Stewart with a smile. “Go ahead—I have nothing to conceal. But won’t you sit down?”

“I thank you,” and the policeman sat down heavily. “You are, I believe, an American.”

“Yes.”

“Have you a passport?”

[Pg 15]

[Pg 15]

“Yes—I was foolish enough to get one before I left home. All my friends laughed at me and told me I was wasting a dollar!”

“I should like to see it.”

Stewart put his hand into an inner pocket, drew out the crackling parchment and passed it over. The other took it, unfolded it, glanced at the red seal and at the date, then read the very vague description of its owner, and finally drew out a notebook.

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