rror-struck, beside me.

"The King? My God! the King?" he whispered hoarsely.

I threw the candle's gleam over every inch of the cellar.

"The King is not here," said I.

CHAPTER 7

His Majesty Sleeps in Strelsau

I put my arm round Sapt's waist and supported him out of the cellar,
drawing the battered door close after me. For ten minutes or more we sat
silent in the dining-room. Then old Sapt rubbed his knuckles into his
eyes, gave one great gasp, and was himself again. As the clock on the
mantelpiece struck one he stamped his foot on the floor, saying:

"They've got the King!"

"Yes," said I, "'all's well!' as Black Michael's despatch said. What
a moment it must have been for him when the royal salutes fired at
Strelsau this morning! I wonder when he got the message?"

"It must have been sent in the morning," said Sapt. "They must have sent
it before news of your arrival at Strelsau reached Zenda--I suppose it
came from Zenda."

"And he's carried it about all day!" I exclaimed. "Upon my honour, I'm
not the only man who's had a trying day! What did he think, Sapt?"

"What does that matter? What does he think, lad, now?"

I rose to my feet.

"We must get back," I said, "and rouse every soldier in Strelsau. We
ought to be in pursuit of Michael before midday."

Old Sapt pulled out his pipe and carefully lit it from the candle which
guttered on the table.

"The King may be murdered while we sit here!" I urged.

Sapt smoked on for a moment in silence.

"That cursed old woman!" he broke out. "She must have attracted their
attention somehow. I see the game. They came up to kidnap the King,
and--as I say--somehow they found him. If you hadn't gone to Strelsau,
you and I and Fritz had been in heaven by now!"

"And the King?"

"Who knows where the King is now?" he asked.

"Come, let's be off!" said I; but he sat still. And suddenly he burst
into one of his grating chuckles:

"By Jove, we've shaken up Black Michael!"

"Come, come!" I repeated impatiently.

"And we'll shake him up a bit more," he added, a cunning smile
broadening on his wrinkled, weather-beaten face, and his teeth working
on an end of his grizzled moustache. "Ay, lad, we'll go back to
Strelsau. The King shall be in his capital again tomorrow."

"The King?"

"The crowned King!"

"You're mad!" I cried.

"If we go back and tell the trick we played, what would you give for our
lives?"

"Just what they're worth," said I.