A Maker of History | Page 4

and that you did not
arrive until past six."
"Quite right!" Guy admitted. "I went to sleep. I didn't know how far it
was to the station, and I was dead tired."
"The officer wishes to know whether many trains passed you in the
night?"
"Can't say," Guy answered. "I sleep very soundly, and I never opened
my eyes after the first few minutes."
"The officer wishes to know whether you saw anything unusual upon
the line?" the little man asked.
"Nothing at all," Guy answered coolly. "Bit inquisitive, isn't he?"
The little man came closer to the table.
"He wishes to see your passport, sir," he announced.
Guy handed it to him, also a letter of credit and several other
documents.
"He wants to know why you were going to the frontier, sir!"
"Sort of fancy to say that I'd been in Russia, that's all!" Guy answered.
"You tell him I'm a perfectly harmless individual. Never been abroad

before."
The officer listened, and took notes in his pocketbook of the passport
and letter of credit. Then he departed with a formal salute, and they
heard his horse's hoofs ring upon the road outside as he galloped away.
The little man came close up to the table.
"You'll excuse me, sir," he said, "but you seem to have upset the
officials very much by being upon the line last night. There have been
some rumors going about--but perhaps you're best not to know that.
May I give you a word of advice, sir?"
"Let me give you one," Guy declared. "Try this beer!"
"I thank you, sir," the man answered. "I will do so with pleasure. But if
you are really an ordinary tourist, sir,--as I have no doubt you are,--let
this man drive you to Streuen, and take the train for the Austrian
frontier. You may save yourself a good deal of unpleasantness."
"I'll do it!" Guy declared. "Vienna was the next place I was going to,
anyhow. You tell the fellow where to take me, will you?"
The man spoke rapidly to the driver.
"I think that you will be followed, sir," he added, turning to Guy, "but
very likely they won't interfere with you. The railway last night for
twenty miles back was held up for State purposes. We none of us know
why, and it doesn't do to be too curious over here, but they have an idea
that you are either a journalist or a spy."
"Civis Britannicus sum!" the boy answered, with a laugh.
"It doesn't quite mean what it used to, sir," the man answered quietly.
CHAPTER II
AT THE CAFÉ MONTMARTRE

Exactly a week later, at five minutes after midnight, Guy Poynton, in
evening dress, entered the Café Montmartre, in Paris. He made his way
through the heterogeneous little crowd of men and women who were
drinking at the bar, past the scarlet-coated orchestra, into the inner
room, where the tables were laid for supper. Monsieur Albert, satisfied
with the appearance of his new client, led him at once to a small table,
submitted the wine card, and summoned a waiter. With some difficulty,
as his French was very little better than his German, he ordered supper,
and then lighting a cigarette, leaned back against the wall and looked
around to see if he could discover any English or Americans.
The room was only moderately full, for the hour was a little early for
this quarter of Paris. Nevertheless, he was quick to appreciate a certain
spirit of Bohemianism which pleased him. Every one talked to his
neighbor. An American from the further end of the room raised his
glass and drank his health. A pretty fair-haired girl leaned over from
her table and smiled at him.
"Monsieur like talk with me, eh?"
"English?" he asked.
"No. De Wien!"
He shook his head smilingly.
"We shouldn't get on," he declared. "Can't speak the language."
She raised her eyebrows with a protesting gesture, but he looked away
and opened an illustrated paper by his side. He turned over the pages
idly enough at first, but suddenly paused. He whistled softly to himself
and stared at the two photographs which filled the sheet.
"By Jove!" he said softly to himself.
There was the rustling of skirts close to his table. An unmistakably
English voice addressed him.

"Is it anything very interesting? Do show me!"
He looked up. Mademoiselle Flossie, pleased with his appearance, had
paused on her way down the room.
"Come and sit down, and I'll show it you!" he said, rising. "You're
English, aren't you?"
Mademoiselle Flossie waved a temporary adieu to her friends and
accepted the invitation. He poured her out a glass of wine.
"Stay and have supper with me," he begged. "I must be off soon, but
I'm tired of being alone.