CHAPTER XI
"LA MORT OU LA VIE!"I took a cab from the newspaper office to Von Eckhardt's address,--a flat in the west end.
I found him, as Medhurst had reported, considerably agitated. He is a good-hearted chap, and a brilliant writer, though he's too apt to allow his feelings to carry him away; for he's even more sentimental than the average German, and entirely lacking in the characteristic German phlegm. He is as vivacious and excitable as a Frenchman, and I fancy there's a good big dash of French blood in his pedigree, though he'd be angry if any one suggested such a thing!
He did not know me for a moment, but when I told him who I was he welcomed me effusively.
"Ah, now I remember; we met in London, when I was there with my poor friend. 'We heard at midnight the clock,' as our Shak
