 The favorite locale of writers of romantic adventure from Dumas to Sabatini has always been the wayside tavern. One of their favorite periods has been the Napoleonic era, and the same locale and the same historical period provide one of the most baffling true stories in all the chronicles of the strange and incredible. The coach that sped along the road from Vienna that crisp wintry morning in November 1808 carried Benjamin Bathurst, ambassador from England to the court of France as the first emperor of Austria. The moment the eminent Mr. Bathurst was highly impatient, for he was returning to London with a report on weighty matters of state. His secretary, who sat beside him in the coach, listened patiently to his complaints. What's the matter with the blasted creatures, Baba? I'm afraid we need facehorses, sir. Well then, let's get facehorses. We'll find the nearest dean and change horses there. Later, the English diplomat was comfortably ensconced in the inn. He had scarcely finished his third mug of ale when his secretary approached the table. The horses are harnessed, sir. Very well. I'll go out and look them over. Settle my account for the host, Parmo. Having paid for the deer, the secretary followed his employer out under the street in front of the inn. He found Mr. Bathurst examining the horses with a critical eye. This one will do. Wait here. I want to take a look at the other one. The ambassador stepped in front of the horses and disappeared on the other side of them. Parmo opened the coach store and glanced in to be sure that the luggage was safe. No sound came from the other side of the coach. Anything the matter, sir? Mr. Bathurst? The secretary hastened around to the other side of the carriage to see what had happened to his employer. He's not here. Parmo could see for several blocks in either direction. There was no one in view. He threw open the door of the coach again. It was empty. He ran into the inn and made inquiries, but my host assured him that Mr. Bathurst had not come back into the inn. Two other patrons, sitting at a table near the window, informed Parmo that they too had seen the diplomat walk around in front of the horses, but that he had not reappeared. The secretary, in a state of utter bewilderment, sat down to wait for his employer's return. But Benjamin Bathurst did not come back. In fact, that was the last time he was ever seen. A single footnote needs to be added to this strange story. On January 23, 1810, more than a year after the British ambassador's sudden disappearance, a small and inconspicuous item appeared in a Hamburg newspaper. Mr. Benjamin Bathurst, former British minister to the court of our emperor, has at last been found. His secretary, Mr. George Palmer, announced recently that he had received a letter from Bathurst himself, informing him that he is safe and in good health. In time, this item fell into Parmo's hands. There's not a word of truth in it. I received no letter from Mr. Bathurst. The theory has been advanced that Benjamin Bathurst was abducted by political enemies, and that the item was inserted to bring to a halt the widespread search for him. Napoleon Bonaparte himself also bled publicly to disclaim any hand in the affair, but such a disclaimer was scarcely necessary. For after all, how can a man be abducted in broad daylight in the middle of the main street of a village, while three eyewitnesses remain in complete ignorance of what is taking place? No, such a simple and logical explanation will not do. And until a better one is found, the case of Benjamin Bathurst must remain a mystery incredible but true.