"Certainly are cavalry and infantry. But they don't appear to be paying much attention to this end of the road. They're all looking the other way. That black and gold hussar uniform beats the gray and silver of the foot. I don't believe they're Russians," Carter concluded with a joyful start. "Those uniforms! Since we can't go back, we'd better go ahead."

With apparent unconcern they boldly emerged from the woodland.

To their left, about fifty yards back from the highway, stood a quaint old inn built against a sheer cliff face which in the air seemed to bend over the puny habitation. To the right stretched fields under cultivation, but beaten hard under the feet of ten thousand men in the uniform already noticed.

A little group of officers, well mounted, stood together in the commons before the hostelry. They caught but the momentary attention of the interlopers, which, as by some hypnotic influence, was drawn to one of three men quietly conversing on the stone porch of the inn.

He was short and spare of figure, lean and colorless of face, while about him hung an atmosphere of grayness.

As the puffing automobile drew up to the steps he turned quietly to survey its occupants, vividly contrasting the surprise displayed by his two companions. One of these was evidently the innkeeper from the professional air of deference which tempered even his amazement, while the other, square of jowl and deep of eye, was a peasant.

These latter could divert attention for but the moment from the gray man, their companion, whose face seemed set in a habitual, cynical smile, the intent of which was inscrutable. The deep creases running from the corners of the mouth to the narrow nostrils showed the expression was habitual and without the saving grace of mirthfulness. Without a doubt he was of those who gain the dislike of the class from which they are derived and usually not more than the tolerance of those with whom they are thrown in daily contact. Carter admitted after a critical survey that the Gray Man, as he mentally dubbed him, was an exception to this rule. Though he bore every external evidence of being of the upper servant class, there were power and masterly cunning disclosed in every line of the set face. He was of those who, in times of great crises, if they do not attain to power always pass through dangers which engulf nobler men, to emerge with profit if not with honor from even a nation's downfall. That behind the grinning mask lay a wide knowledge of the working of the human mind, Carter saw, as the Gray Man's crafty eyes weighed the repugnance he knew he had inspired. As their glances met, uncontrollably, a challenge gleamed in that of the autoist which was answered by a cold defiance on the part of the elder man.

Meanwhile the boniface, who had achieved a partial composure, hurried forward to greet the travelers.

"I am sorry, messieurs," he said in excellent French, "that every bed, every table, in my inn is engaged. I am overwhelmed. The 'Lion' doubtless loses noble guests," and he fetched a fat sigh as his keen little eyes apprised the worldly stations of the two strangers. Evidently revolving some question in his mind he hit upon, to him, a happy solution to it.

"The castle," he said, with a significant wink accompanied by an upward jerk of a pudgy thumb, "the castle, messieurs, is but two miles further along this road. Perhaps, if milords have friends there, they can find accommodations."

"While I admit, Monsieur of the Lion," said Carter, "that I would like few things better than a good square meal just now, I would forego that gratification for information regarding the whereabouts of a gentleman of these parts."

The Gray Man drew nearer as this was said. A subtle change flickered across the wide expanse of the innkeeper's face, while a tinge of suspicion added a chill to his immediate inquiry.

"Monsieur would pay well doubtless?" He eyed the tourist narrowly. "Who is it, monsieur?"

"I'd give ten golden florins to know where to find Count Paul Zulka. Do you know him?"

The boniface gasped and grew apoplectic. "I never heard of him," he said, which, in the face of his perturbation, was manifestly a lie.

The Gray Man stepped to the fore at this juncture.

"In the public squares of Schallberg, monsieur will doubtless gather much information," he said ironically and with a covert meaning at that moment not appreciated by Carter. "Monsieur must travel that way. He should not turn back," and with a nod of his head he indicated a troop of cavalry guarding the way along which the travelers had approached.

The significance of this was not lost on Carter who was now convinced that this was an army of Krovitzers and that his innocent inquiry had brought him under some sort of suspicion. Though he was burning up with curiosity to learn if it was the patriotic army, he wisely refrained from asking. With a short laugh he turned back to the Gray Man.

"I never turn back," he said. "The road toward Schallberg is better, I hope?"

"It is easier traveling, monsieur," the fellow replied insolently with an unchanging smile.

Carter was satisfied from this that if he used discretion he would be permitted to reach Schallberg or the army probably investing it. He gave the necessary orders to Carrick and without undue haste while in the vicinity of the inn the automobile proceeded on its quest.

When out of earshot of the hostelry, the Cockney, who had been a silent observer of the controversy, gave a prodigious sigh of relief.

"I wouldn't trust that grinning ape with a dead pup. 'E's a sly one. 'Opes we don't run into 'im again."

"I don't like him, either. I have a feeling, though, that we'll meet him again soon and like him less."

V

I AM THE LADY TRUSIA

"I hope she's not dead," Carter said fervently as he bent over the unconscious girl. He beckoned to his chauffeur. "You can't catch her horse, Carrick. No use trying. Just hand me my flask."

As he forced the brandy through the pale lips he inwardly cursed his own lust for speed which had been the cause of the possibly fatal catastrophe.

Tempted by a bit of road, straight and smooth, full power had been put on in a feverish desire to interpose as much space as possible between the automobile and the Gray Man at the inn, repugnance for whom seethed in Carter's soul. As the touring car had neared a turn in the way, its two occupants had been horrified to see a spirited black horse, ridden by a beautiful girl, swing at a sharp gallop directly in their path. A rare presence of mind on Carrick's part had prompted an instant application of the brakes which had undoubtedly prevented a collision although it had very nearly hurled him and his companion from their seats. The steed for a fraction of a second had been petrified with fear. Then it had reared violently, thrown its rider, and panic-stricken, had turned and fled in the direction of its coming.

Carter, kneeling, gently placed the girl's head against his shoulder, while he passed an arm around her the better to support the relaxed body. He looked helplessly at the Cockney.

"Wasn't there some one with her?" he inquired, with the memory of a meteoric vision of another rider fleeing back along the road on a plunging, squealing steed.

"Yes, Mr. Carter, a young chap in uniform. 'Is 'oss bolted too, sir. 'E stuck on all right though. We've certainly 'ad a bad day for a start, don't you think, sir?"

Calvert did not answer; he was bending anxiously over the