“Speaking.”
“A gentleman has called to see you.”
Anthony was rather astonished.
“To see me?”
“Yes, sir, a foreign gentleman.”
“What’s his name?”
There was a slight pause, and then the clerk said:
“I will send up a page boy with his card.”
Anthony replaced the receiver and waited. In a few minutes there was a knock on the door and a small page appeared bearing a card upon a salver.
Anthony took it. The following was the name engraved upon it:
Baron Lolopretjzyl.
He now fully appreciated the desk clerk’s pause.
For a moment or two he stood studying the card, and then made up his mind.
“Show the gentleman up.”
“Very good, sir.”
In a few minutes the Baron Lolopretizyl was ushered into the room, a big man with an immense fan-like black beard and a high, bald forehead.
He brought his heels together with a click, and bowed.
“Mr. McGrath,” he said.
Anthony imitated his movements as nearly as possible.
“Baron,” he said. Then, drawing forward a chair, “Pray sit down. I have not, I think, had the pleasure of meeting you before?”
“That is so,” agreed the Baron, seating himself. “It is my misfortune,” he added politely.
“And mine also,” responded Anthony, on the same note.
“Let us now to business come,” said the Baron. “I represent in London the Loyalist party of Herzoslovakia.”
“And represent it admirably, I am sure,” murmured Anthony.
The Baron bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment.
“You are too kind,” he said stiffly. “Mr. McGrath, I will not from you conceal anything. The moment has come for the Restoration of the Monarchy, in abeyance since the martyr-
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