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A JOB FOR CAPTAIN HERCULES "The order mentions no name?"

"No; it directs the Baroness to accompany the bearer. True, at the foot my name is written—'Entrusted to Colonel Stafnitz.' But with care and a pair of scissors—!" He smiled at Markart again, as though taking him into the joke.

"Well, well, suppose another officer goes to Praslok —why shouldn't the Prince trust the Baroness to the care of that officer as readily as to you? You don't—how shall I put it?—monopolize his confidence, Colonel."

Stafnitz still wore his easy, confidential smile, as he answered with an air of innocent slyness: "Suppose the officer were—Captain Mistitch? I think it's just the job for Captain Hercules!"

Even Stenovics started a little at that. He laid down his cigar and looked at his friend the Colonel for some seconds. Then he looked at Markart, smiling, seeming to ponder, to watch how Markart was taking it, even to sympathize with Markart on having to consider a rather startling proposal, on having, possibly, to do some little violence to his feelings. Certainly Captain Markart gathered the impression that Stenovics was doubtful how he would stand this somewhat staggering suggestion. At last the General turned his eyes back to Stafnitz again.

"That's as ingenious a bit of deviltry as I ever heard, Colonel," he remarked quietly.

"Captain Mistitch is restored to duty. He's of proper rank to perform such a service, and to command an escort of a hundred men. After all, an officer of my rank made a certain concession in accepting so small a command."

"Of course, if the Prince knew you as I do, my 229