And that poor, friendless,
paralytic king! I say, but it makes the blood grow warm."
He left the chair and paced the office confines. Only one thing
went echoing through his brain, and that was he could do nothing.
The sooner he settled down in the attitude of a spectator the
better for him. Besides, he was an official in the employ of a
foreign country, and it would be the height of indiscretion to
meddle, even in a private capacity. It would be to jeopardize
his diplomatic career, and that would be ridiculous.
A porter touched him on the shoulder.
"A letter for your Excellency."
It was from the American minister in Vienna.
"My dear Carewe: I have a service to ask of you. The British
minister is worried over the disappearance of a fellow-
countryman, Lord Fitzgerald. He set out for Bleiberg, leaving
instructions to look him up if nothing was heard of him within a
week. Two weeks have gone. Knowing you to be in Bleiberg, I
believed you might take the trouble to look into the affair. The
British ambassador hints at strange things, as if he feared foul
play. I shall have urgent need of you by the first of October;
our charge d'affaires is to return home on account of ill-health,
and your appointment to that office is a matter of a few days.
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