The Councillors of Falconhoe by Fred M. White

The taunt of cowardice which Jelicorse had so contemptuously thrown at Barrados had sunk deeply into what passed for his soul. He knew only too well how true it was. So had his comrades that time he had been in the Austrian Army and, after his treachery, so had his brother officers in the crack regiment in the Prussian cavalry after he had migrated to Germany. He was exactly the swaggering, bragging, cunning type of intriguer that his adopted country needed, and he was therefore pushed into the secret service.

And now for the third time Jelicorse had got the better of him on his own ground. The loss of the emeralds had infuriated him, and his very helplessness added fuel to the flame. What can you do with a man who beards you in your own den and plays tricks with you that suggest something like black magic? The gems so cunningly obtained and so sorely needed as a basis for raising funds for the great conspiracy had vanished beyond recall, and unless Barrados could find something to replace them, it would be a long time before he could see even the budding of his ambition. For he, like the rest of the plotters in Berlin, had the command of very little money, and money was the crux of the whole thing.