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Updated: May 27, 2025
"What the devil did you do that for?" growled Von Stroebel. "From curiosity, or ambition, as you like. I was in Cambridge at the law school for a year before the Archduke died. That was three years ago. I am twenty-eight, as you may remember. I am detaining you; I have no wish to rake over the past; but I am sorry I am very sorry we can't meet on some common ground."
Montana isn't a good hiding-place any more. But it was odd the way he acted about old Stroebel's death. You don't suppose he knew him, do you?" "It's possible. Poor Count von Stroebel! Many hearts are lighter, now that he's done for." "Yes; and there will be something doing in Austria, now that he's out of the way." Four days passed, in which they devoted themselves to their young brother.
John Armitage paid no heed to them. He had held the last conversation of length that any one had enjoyed with Count Ferdinand von Stroebel, but the fact of this interview was known to no one, unless to one or two hotel servants, and these held a very high opinion of Mr.
"I know of Winkelried. The continental press has given much space to him of late; but Rambaud is a new name." "He is a skilled hand. He is the most daring scoundrel in Europe." Count von Stroebel poured a glass of brandy from a silver flask and sipped it slowly.
Count von Stroebel held up his empty glass and studied it attentively, while he waited for Armitage to explain why he expected to see Rambaud in Geneva. "He is interested in a certain young woman. She reached here yesterday; and Rambaud, alias Chauvenet, is quite likely to arrive within a day or so." "Jules Chauvenet is the correct name. I must inform my men," said the minister.
In the uneasy and unstable condition of your absurd empire I should be hailed as a diversion, and then events, events!" Count von Stroebel listened with narrowing eyes, and his lips moved in an effort to find words with which to break in upon this impious declaration. When Armitage ceased speaking the old man sank back and glared at him. "Karl did his work well. You are quite mad.
"Somebody stuck a knife into Count von Stroebel at a singularly inopportune moment. I saw him in Geneva two days before he was assassinated, and he was very feeble and seemed harassed. It gives a man the shudders to think of what might happen if his Majesty, Charles Louis, should go by the board. His only child died a year ago after him his cousin Francis, and then the deluge." "Bah!
"Events!" repeated Count von Stroebel without humor. "A couple of deaths and there you see him, on the ground and quite ready. Karl was a genius, therefore he could not be king. He threw away about five hundred years of work that had been done for him by other people and he cajoled you into sharing his exile. You threw away your life for him! Bah! But you seem sane enough!"
These phrases repeated themselves over and over again in his mind until they rose and fell with the cadence of the high, wavering voice of the Cardinal Archbishop of Vienna as he chanted the mass of requiem for Count Ferdinand von Stroebel. Low he lies, yet high and great Looms he, lying thus in state. How exalted o'er ye when Dead, my lords and gentlemen! James Whitcomb Riley.
We hear it frequently in Vienna; I have heard it since you told me that story and gave me those papers in Paris last year." "I am aware of that," replied John Armitage; "but I told you the truth. He died in a Canadian lumber camp. We were in the north hunting you may recall that he was fond of that sort of thing." "Yes, I remember; there was nothing else he did so well," growled Von Stroebel.
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