y veins and such a thirst! Here and now I
make a firm resolution never to give way again to such dissipation.
Never again will I drink champagne in such quantities. But, where the
deuce am I?... It's still pitch dark!... Ah, I remember ... it's
outrageous! Help! Help!"

King Frederick-Christian had wakened. At first he experienced the usual
unpleasant sensations which follow a night of heavy drinking and then,
as his memory returned, he was afraid, horribly afraid.

He recalled his arrival at Susy d'Orsel's apartment in company with the
young companion he had picked up at Raxim's and the subsequent supper,
and then he broke into a cold sweat as his mind flashed to the picture
of Fandor's return with the inanimate body of his mistress in his
arms--dead. Yes, she was undoubtedly dead!

And afterwards, what had happened?

His companion had declared himself to be the journalist, Jerome Fandor,
and had called him by name--Frederick-Christian. Furthermore, he had
cried:

"It was you who killed Susy d'Orsel. It was you who threw her out of the
window!"

What had happened after that? His mind was a complete blank.

Had these events occurred recently, or a long time ago? His headache and
thirst were proof that they could not have been far distant.

"Where am I? Evidently not at the Royal Palace!"

When he first wakened he was lying flat on his back; now he sat up and
groped about with his hands. The ground beneath him was cold and
hard ... a floor of earth. So they had put him in a vault? in a
cellar?

The air he breathed was heavy and warm, and the walls of his cell felt
damp to the touch. Could he be in prison? That was hardly possible, in
such a short time. Besides, he was innocent! As he sat listening, he
detected a faint and faraway rumbling sound. It seemed to come from
above his head.

As his senses became more fully aroused, an indefinable terror struck to
his heart. At all costs he must take some action. He rose suddenly to
his feet but before he reached his full height his head struck the
roof. The blow was so violent that he fell back again in a fainting
condition.

It was not until many hours afterward that he regained his senses
sufficiently to make another attempt. This time he proceeded with more
caution.

"I am the victim of some gang," he thought. "This Jerome Fandor is
probably the leader of a band of cutthroats who, after killing Susy
d'Orsel, took advantage of my intoxication to make me unco