t, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him,
and Sapt's revolver was at his ear.

In the passage the king stopped.

"What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick
movements.

"I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward.

"No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!"

"A thousand pardons, sire."

"I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two
now stood dead silent inside the door.

"Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another
step.

"You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the
young officer lead him away.

Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door.
He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with
excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand.

"Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be
nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door,
I'd have shot you through the head."

As he spoke there came a knock at the door.

"Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the
count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver.

"Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand.

"Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man
respectfully.

"Take it," whispered Sapt again.

"Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope.

The servant bowed and shut the door.

"Open it," commanded Sapt.

"God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with
passion.

"Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord.
Be quick and open it."

The count began to open it.

"If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly.
"You know you can trust my word. Now read it."

"By God, I won't read it."

"Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers."

The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then
he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable.

"I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim.

"Possibly I may be able to help you."

"It's nothing but--"

"Read, my lord, read!"

Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse."

"A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?"

"Strelsau."

"Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing