It may be Scharfenstein." The old man possessed authority.
Carmichael, freed, stretched himself.
"Well ?" he said, with a dangerous quiet.
"Herr Carmichael, the American consul!" The old man nearly dropped the lantern.

"Oh, you infernal blockheads!" "Explanations are in order," suggested Carmichael.
"You are offered a thousand apologies for a stupid mistake.

Now, may I ask how you came to be dressed in these clothes on this particular night ?" Carmichael's anger dissolved, and he laughed.

All the mystery was gone with the abruptness of a mist under the first glare of the sun.

He saw how neatly he had been duped.