he had been cheated into giving him at first.
But it was not long before they were seated side
by side near the stove, each with a tall glass
tankard of beer at his elbow; and the landlord
prepared to enjoy a good gossip about the great
event of the lost dressing-case. To a certain
extent he was gratified. Laurier spoke fluently
enough, for he possessed an art of which it may be
presumed that Caspar Ebner was ignorant—
namely, the power of talking copiously on any
subject without telling any essential particular
whatever respecting it. So that, though the
conversation went briskly on, and Laurier never
appeared to be exercising any caution in framing
his answers, yet when Kester thought over it
afterwards, he could not recall having learned
one circumstance from the courier which had
been unknown to him before. On the other
hand, Laurier, by a series of well-directed questions,
drew a good deal of information from Josef
respecting the events of the morning on which
Fritz Rosenheim had left Gossau for Ischl.
When somewhat more than an hour had been
passed in this way, and the two men were still
alone in the kitchen, Laurier asked if he should
not have the pleasure of seeing Mam'sell Katarine
before he went away.

"Oh, Kätchen? Yes, surely, you shall see her
if you will. I've hardly set eyes on her myself
to-day," answered Kester, in a grumbling tone.

"I hope she's quite well," said Laurier.

"Well, yes, I suppose so. She came down
this morning with her head muffled up in a black
silk handkerchief after the Bohemian fashion.
I asked if there was anything the matter, but
she said no; she was only cold. Lord, what
queer cattle these women creatures be! The
ugly ones bedizen themselves with all manner
of finery, whilst the pretty ones—well, they
mostly bedizen themselves too!" said Josef,
bringing his speech to an abrupt termination
from inability to find an antithetical climax.
"Kätchen!" he bawled, "Kätchen! Oh, now I
think of it, she must be gone down to the wood-
stack for fuel."

"Surely that's rather rough work for her
at this time of year," said Laurier. "What's
that strapping wench about that I saw here in
the autumn?"

"Ah," rejoined the old man, "there's another
of my plagues! That Liese is the most
cross-grained, contrary creature! She can work for
six, when she has a mind; but if she's as strong
as a horse, she's as obstinate as a mule, and she
has taken herself off, the Lord knows where."

"Taken herself off!" echoed Laurier,
quickly.

"Yes; a message was sent down here, about
a quarter of an hour before you came, from
Heinrich Amsel's mother—Heinrich is Liese's
sweetheart, more fool she—and the self-willed
jade said she must have leave to go out for
the afternoon, and, when I refused, she coolly
went, whether I liked it or no."

Laurier was busy fastening on his cap by
this time. "Well," said he, "I must be off
too. I wish I had known before about——"
He checked himself abruptly.

"About what?" asked Kester.

"Oh, nothing, nothing; only I must really be
going now. There's a deal to do, and I've lost a
good hour here already." And with a hurried
shake of the hand the courier took leave of his
host and left the kitchen, setting forth into the
gathering shades of the early twilight with a
quick resolute step.

Kester stood for a minute at the door watching
him. "Not too civil, our friend the courier,"
grumbled the old man, with his pipe between
his teeth. "Lost a good hour here, has he?
Sappermint! And my time? I suppose he
thinks that is of no value, because I sat so
good-naturedly listening to his chat! Well, a landlord
has a good deal to put up with in the way
of business."

Then Josef returned to his beer and his
tobacco, and fell asleep comfortably before the
warm stove.

          CHAPTER THE LAST.

As Laurier walked rapidly towards the Black
Eagle, he thought over all the circumstances
which had come to his knowledge relative to
the missing box, and the result of his thinking
was so thoroughly to confirm his preconceived
suspicions, that he resolved to confide his view
of the case, without loss of time, to Caspar
Ebner, in order to consult with him as to what
method had best be taken to bring the guilty
parties to justice and clear Fritz's character;
for that the dressing-case had been, not lost, but
stolen, was to Laurier now no longer a matter
of doubt. As he approached the inn, his eye
lighted on the space of garden-ground in front
of the house. Something he saw there appeared
to startle him, for he stood still and peered
straight before him, straining his gaze in the
uncertain light. Almost as he stopped, a dark
figure, crouching under the garden wall, moved
and advanced a few steps so as to be well in
Laurier's view. "Dear Heaven!" exclaimed
he, "I was not mistaken, then! It is you,
Mam'sell Kätchen."

"Hush!" said the girl, softly, with one cold
red finger peeping forth from the folds of her
cloak and raised warningly. "Hush! I want
to speak to you, Herr Laurier. I've been
waiting here for more than half an hour, because
I didn't want any one else to know."

"What! waiting here? You must be
frozen! Will you come into the great kitchen?
There'll be a roaring fire there."

"No, no, thank you; but if you wouldn't
mind going in first and opening the back door
that leads into the stable-yard, I will come into
the little parlour. We shall find nobody there at
this hour, and I do so want to speak to you."

Laurier looked at her with a puzzled expression,
but said he would do as she wished,
and forthwith proceeded into the house, leaving
her to take her way through the stable-yard.
When he reached the back door and
opened it, there stood Kätchen wrapped in
her thick blue cloak, the hood of which was
drawn over her head down to the eyebrows.
Her round cheeks were pale, her little nose
pinched with the cold, and her eyelids red and