The man arose and went toward the door, but the Minister stopped him.

“One moment, Ivan.  Do you think we could find the other?—­the man who struck you?”

“I think his face, or hands, or arms, would be marked by the gun fire, Excellency.”

“Thank you, Ivan.”

The rough man bowed himself out.  For a while the Minister sat silent, gazing contemplatively at the fingers which were moving more slowly now as though keeping pace with his thoughts.  Finally he looked up.

“Did you find out if there were any strangers in town last night, Wratslav?”

“There were two, Excellency.  One was our own detective, who knew not at all that I was on the work.  The other was an Englishman—­the same who visits the lady.”

“H-m, h-mmmm.”  The tones were long drawn out, and again His Excellency was silent, considering what this new development might mean.  The fingers ceased their thrumming and closed around a delicate ivory paper-knife which lay near by.  When the Minister again spoke, he did so slowly, carefully, weighing each word.

“Have you seen him—­the Englishman—­since?”

“No, Excellency—­”

“No?” The word came with cold emphasis.

“The hotel clerk, who is friendly—­for a consideration—­telephoned me that the Englishman was out at the time of the accident, and that his hand was burned slightly, and showed powder marks.”

“So!  He has said nothing to the authorities?”

“Not a word, so far as I have heard.”

“Strange.  Why should he conceal the matter?”

“He might think that he would be suspected.”

“True, true.  That is well spoken, Wratslav.  But yet he knows a little too much, does he not?”

“A great deal too much, Excellency.”

“There is no certainty that he does not know also who the lady is.”

“He goes to see her, Excellency.”

The ivory knife swayed delicately, rhythmically, in the mobile fingers, then was still.  The Minister spoke deliberately.

“It would be well if he did not go again—­did not speak to her again for that matter—­” The heavy lids flickered for an instant as His Excellency flashed one look of keen intent towards his hearer as though to emphasize the portent of his words.  Then the smooth voice continued, “if it could be arranged.”

“It can be arranged, Excellency.”

“I thought so.”  Again the keen look.  Then the Minister leaned back in his chair, revolving it slightly that his arm might rest more comfortably on the desk.

“Excellency?” Wratslav spoke with some anxiety.

“Yes?”

“Unfortunately, the Englishman is a person of some consequence in his own country.”

“Indeed?  One Griffin, is he not?”

“His brother is dead.  He died last week.  The Englishman is now Baron Griffin.”

The fingers tightened around the ivory knife.