The carriage was at the door, and Dick Claiborne came up to them at once and bowed to Armitage.

“There is great news:  Count Ferdinand von Stroebel was murdered in his railway carriage between here and Vienna; they found him dead at Innsbruck this morning.”

“Is it possible!  Are you quite sure he was murdered?”

It was Armitage who asked the question.  He spoke in a tone quite matter-of-fact and colorless, so that Shirley looked at him in surprise; but she saw that he was very grave; and then instantly some sudden feeling flashed in his eyes.

“There is no doubt of it.  It was an atrocious crime; the count was an old man and feeble when we saw him the other day.  He wasn’t fair game for an assassin,” said Claiborne.

“No; he deserved a better fate,” remarked Armitage.

“He was a grand old man,” said Shirley, as they left the shop and walked toward the carriage.  “Father admired him greatly; and he was very kind to us in Vienna.  It is terrible to think of his being murdered.”

“Yes; he was a wise and useful man,” observed Armitage, still grave.  “He was one of the great men of his time.”

His tone was not that of one who discusses casually a bit of news of the hour, and Captain Claiborne paused a moment at the carriage door, curious as to what Armitage might say further.

“And now we shall see—­” began the young American.

“We shall see Johann Wilhelm die of old age within a few years at most; and then Charles Louis, his son, will be the Emperor-king in his place; and if he should go hence without heirs, his cousin Francis would rule in the house of his fathers; and Francis is corrupt and worthless, and quite necessary to the plans of destiny for the divine order of kings.”

John Armitage stood beside the carriage quite erect, his hat and stick and gloves in his right hand, his left thrust lightly into the side pocket of his coat.

“A queer devil,” observed Claiborne, as they drove away.  “A solemn customer, and not cheerful enough to make a good drummer.  By what singular chance did he find you in that shop?”

“I found him, dearest brother, if I must make the humiliating disclosure.”

“I shouldn’t have believed it!  I hardly thought you would carry it so far.”

“And while he may be a salesman of imitation cut-glass, he has expensive tastes.”

“Lord help us, he hasn’t been buying you a watch?”

“No; he was lavishing himself on a watch for the foreman of his ranch in Montana.”

“Humph! you’re chaffing.”

“Not in the least.  He paid—­I couldn’t help being a witness to the transaction—­he actually paid five hundred francs for a watch to give to the foreman of his ranch—­his ranch, mind you, in Montana, U.S.A.  He spoke of it incidentally, as though he were always buying watches for cowboys.  Now where does that leave us?”