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beside me.
    â€œThe King? My God! the King?” he whispered hoarsely.
    I threw the candle’s gleam over every inch of the cellar.
    â€œThe 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:
    â€œThey’ve got the King!”
    â€œYes,” 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?”
    â€œIt 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.”
    â€œAnd 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?”
    â€œWhat does that matter? What does he think, lad, now?”
    I rose to my feet.
    â€œWe 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.
    â€œThe King may be murdered while we sit here!” I urged.
    Sapt smoked on for a moment in silence.
    â€œThat 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!”
    â€œAnd the King?”
    â€œWho knows where the King is now?” he asked.
    â€œCome, let’s be off!” said I; but he sat still. And suddenly he burst into one of his grating chuckles:
    â€œBy Jove, we’ve shaken up Black Michael!”
    â€œCome, come!” I repeated impatiently.
    â€œAnd 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.”
    â€œThe King?”
    â€œThe crowned King!”
    â€œYou’re mad!” I cried.
    â€œIf we go back and tell the trick we played, what would you give for our lives?”
    â€œJust what they’re worth,” said I.
    â€œAnd for the King’s throne? Do you think that the nobles and the people will enjoy being fooled as you’ve fooled them? Do you think they’ll love a King who was too drunk to be crowned, and sent a servant to personate him?”
    â€œHe was drugged—and I’m no servant.”
    â€œMine will be Black Michael’s version.”
    He rose, came to me, and laid his hand on my shoulder.
    â€œLad,” he said, “if you play the man, you may save the King yet. Go back and keep his throne warm for him.”
    â€œBut the duke knows—the villains he has employed know—”
    â€œAy, but they can’t speak!” roared Sapt in grim triumph.
    â€œWe’ve got ’ em! How can they denounce you without denouncing themselves? This is not the King, because we kidnapped the King and murdered his servant. Can they say that?”
    The position flashed on me. Whether Michael knew me or not, he could not speak. Unless he produced the King, what could he do? And if he produced the King, where was he? For a moment I was carried away headlong; but in an instant the difficulties came strong upon me.
    â€œI must be found out,” I urged.
    â€œPerhaps; but every