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"Captain Graf von Specht, the Kaiserjaeger," he read aloud. "Ever hear of him, Von Wetten?" Von Wetten nodded. "Neighbor of mine in the country, Excellenz," he replied. "We were at the cadet-school together. Colonel now; promoted during the war. He would regret, I am sure." "He will regret, I am sure," interrupted the Baron, pocketing the card. "And he will have good cause.

Three or four men dashed down the middle of the quiet street. The tall, bearded fellow at the head we knew well. It was the upholsterer Specht, who had often put up curtains and done similar work for us, a good and capable workman. But what a change!

"What is Von Specht?" grumbled the clerk. "Is this a cipher-message?" "No," gasped Herr Haase. "Can't you read? This is plain German!" Herr Haase, one has gathered, was not afflicted with that weakness of the sense which is called imagination.

It is significant to note what class of men, according to Schmidt, received the "Weltraetsel" with enthusiasm and joy. They are August Specht, the free-church editor of "Menschentum" and of the "Freien Glocken," Julius Hart, Professor Keller-Zuerich, the philosopher and "Neokantian" Professor Spitzer of Graz, the popular literateur W. Boelsche, W. Ule, and a few unknown great men, Dr. Zimmer, Th.

"Halt!" he cried. In broken English, I said I had a letter for Colonel Montresor, to be given in the morning when he would be out to inspect the lines, and one for Lieutenant-Colonel von Specht. The man took the letters. I meant to turn back, wheel, and go by at speed; but by evil luck a wind from the north blew open my cloak, and in the brilliant firelight he saw my gray clothes.

Bettermann, doubled up in his low chair, broke in abruptly: "Yes, I insist!" The Baron smiled his elderly, temperate smile. "So be it," he said. "Well, my good Haase, what have you to tell us?" Herr Haase brought his heels together, dropped his thumbs to the seams of his best trousers, threw up his chin, and barked: "Your Excellency, I have seen the Herr Colonel Graf von Specht.

Well, Herr Bettermann, I think I know your terms now. You want to see the Graf von Specht again here? I am right, am I not?" Bettermann's eyes narrowed at him. "Yes," he said. "You're right. Only this time it is he that must bring the whip!" Herr Haase's intelligence, following like a shorthand-writer's pencil, ten words behind the speaker, gave a leap at this.

"Direct it to our private address in the Wilhelmstrasse," he ordered. "Then write: 'You are to carry out orders previously communicated. Send Von Specht forthwith, avoiding all delay. Telegraph hour of his departure and keep me informed of his progress. No objections to this order are to be entertained." "'Entertained," murmured Herr Haase, as he wrote the last word.

It was the Baron who answered from his seat on the parapet, not varying his tone and measured delivery. "Colonel von Specht," he said, "is to bring a whip here and stand to attention while Herr Bettermann cuts him over the face with it. That is all. Now sit down and be silent." Captain von Wetten did not move. "This is impossible," he said. "There are limits.

He waited till Herr Haase, with a loud, luxurious grunt, had drawn off the second boot. "There will be a row, of course," he remarked then. "These Excellencies and people are only good for making rows. But I told them he couldn't be moved." Herr Haase shifted his toes inside his socks. "You mean Colonel von Specht? But isn't he here, then?" The young doctor shook his head.