THE WRONG MAN Herbeck dropped his quill, and there was a dream in his eyes.

His desk was littered with papers, well covered with ink; flowing sentences, and innumerable figures.

He was the watch-dog of the duchy.

Never a bill from the Reichstag that did not pass under his cold eye before it went to the duke for his signature, his approval, or veto.

Not a copper was needlessly wasted, and never was one held back unnecessarily.