He laughed long and loud as the stupefaction deepened on the faces of the two men.
The objects which Durand held caused Claiborne to stare, and then he laughed again.

Durand had caught up from a hook in Armitage's room a black cloak, so long that it trailed at length from his arms, its red lining glowing brightly where it lay against the outer black.

From the folds of the cloak a sword, plucked from a trunk, dropped upon the floor with a gleam of its bright scabbard.

In his right hand he held a silver box of orders, and as his arm fell at the sight of Claiborne, the gay ribbons and gleaming pendants flashed to the floor.
"It is not Armitage; we have made a mistake!" muttered Chauvenet tamely, his eyes falling from Claiborne's face to the cloak, the sword, the tangled heap of ribbons on the floor.
Durand stepped forward with an oath.
"Who is the man ?" he demanded.
"It is my friend Captain Claiborne.

We owe the gentleman an apology--" Chauvenet began.
"You put it mildly," cried Claiborne in English, his back to the fireplace, his arms folded, and the smile gone from his face.