difficulty that I can believe what is alleged against you. Baron Armfelt
is perhaps rendered hasty by his grief and righteous anger. But I hope
that you will be able to explain--at least to deny your concern in this
horrible deed."

Very tense and white stood Bjelke.

"I have an explanation that should satisfy you as a man of honour," he
said quietly, "but not as chief of the police. I joined this conspiracy
that I might master its scope and learn the intentions of the plotters.
It was a desperate thing I did out of love and loyalty to the King, and
I succeeded. I came to-night to the palace with information which should
not only have saved the King's life, but would have enabled him to
smother the conspiracy for all time. On the threshold of his room this
letter for the King was delivered into my hands. Read it, Lillesparre,
that you may know precisely what manner of master you serve, that you
may understand how Gustavus of Sweden recompenses love and loyalty. Read
it, and tell me how you would have acted in my place!"

And he flung the letter on to the writing-table at which sat
Lillesparre.

The chief of police took it up, began to read, turned back to the
superscription, then resumed his reading, a dull flush overspreading his
face. Over his shoulder Armfelt, too, was reading. But Bjelke cared
not. Let all the world behold that advertisement of royal infamy,
that incriminating love-letter from Bjelke's wife to the King who had
dishonoured him.

Lillesparre was stricken dumb. He dared not raise his eyes to meet the
glance of the prisoner. But the shameless Armfelt sucked in a breath of
understanding.

"You admit your guilt, then?" he snarled.

"That I sent the monster to the masquerade, knowing that there the
blessed hand of Ankarstrom would give him his passport out of a world he
had befouled--yes."

"The rack shall make you yield the name of every one of the
conspirators."

"The rack!" Bjelke smiled disdainfully, and shrugged. "Your men,
Lillesparre, were very prompt and very obdurate. They would not allow me
to take leave of the Baroness, so that she has escaped me. But I am not
sure that it is not a fitter vengeance to let her live and remember.
That letter may now be delivered to the King, for whom it is intended.
Its fond messages may lighten the misery of his remaining hours."

His face was contorted, with rage, thought Armfelt, who watched him, but
in reality with pain caused by the poison that w