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There is no doubt of Chauvenet's entire credibility," declared Armitage, a little airily. "I should say not," said Shirley unresponsively. "I am quite as sure that he was not the false baron as I am that you were not." Armitage laughed. "That is a little pointed." "It was meant to be," said Shirley sternly. "It is" she weighed the word "ridiculous that both of you should be here."
With a cry Claiborne put spurs to his horse and drove him forward upon Durand. His hand knocked the leveled revolver flying into the fog. Then Zmai fired twice, and Chauvenet's frightened horse, panic-stricken at the shots, reared, swung round and dashed back the way he had come, and Durand and Zmai followed.
At a bend of the road Chauvenet and Franzel, the attaché, swung into view, mounted, and as they met, Chauvenet turned his horse and rode beside her. "Ah, these American airs! This spring! Is it not good to be alive, Miss Claiborne?" "It is all of that!" she replied. It seemed to her that the day had not needed Chauvenet's praise.
The three disappeared into the mist, and Armitage and Claiborne shook themselves together and quieted their horses. "That was too close for fun are you all there?" asked Armitage. "Still in it; but Chauvenet's friend won't miss every time. There's murder in his eye. The big fellow seemed to be trying to shoot his own horse." "Oh, he's a knife and sack man and clumsy with the gun."
The picture is even more perfect, Mademoiselle!" "Fanny is best in action, and splendid when she runs away. She hasn't run away to-day, but I think she is likely to before I get home." She was thinking of the long ride which she had no intention of taking in Chauvenet's company. He stood uncovered beside her, holding his horse. "But the danger, Mademoiselle!
Chauvenet held in his white-gloved hand a gold cigarette case, which he opened with a deliberate care that displayed its embellished side. The smooth golden surface gleamed in the light, the helmet in blue, and the white falcon flashed in Armitage's eyes. The meeting was clearly by intention, and a slight smile played about Chauvenet's lips in his enjoyment of the situation.
I presume the denunciation was due to B. P. having at one time borrowed an instrument from the department, and returned it thus maltreated. But "practical," so misapplied action without thought was Chauvenet's red rag. An amusing reminiscence, illustrative of the same common tendency, was told me by General Howard.
Her elbows resting on the high arms of her chair caused her cloak to flow sweepingly away from her shoulders. At the end of the room, with his back to the portieres, stood Oscar, immovable. Claiborne reexamined the message, and extended it again to Shirley. "There's no doubt of that being Chauvenet's writing, is there?" "I think not, Dick. I have had notes from him now and then in that hand.
There's the house." He halted the party, dismounted and crept forward to the bungalow. He circled the veranda, found the blinds open, and peered into the long lounging-room, where a few embers smoldered in the broad fireplace, and an oil lamp shed a faint light. One man they held captive; the other was not in sight; Chauvenet's courage rose at the prospect of easy victory.
He had no intention of allowing Jules Chauvenet's assassins to kill him, or of being locked up in a Washington jail as the false Baron von Kissel. If he admitted that he was not John Armitage, it would be difficult to prove that he was anybody else a fact touching human testimony which Jules Chauvenet probably knew perfectly well.
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