asked the constable.

"Yes, to a certainty," I cried, hot in excitement and emotion. Sapt
glanced across at Mr. Rassendyll's servant. James had, with my help,
raised the king's body on to the bed, and had aided the wounded
forester to reach a couch. He stood now near the constable, in his
usual unobtrusive readiness. He did not speak, but I saw a look of
understanding in his eyes as he nodded his head to Colonel Sapt. They
were well matched, that pair, hard to move, hard to shake, not to be
turned from the purpose in their minds and the matter that lay to their
hands.

"Yes, he'd probably be taken or killed," said Sapt.

"Then let's do it!" I cried.

"With the queen's letter on him," said Colonel Sapt.

I had forgotten.

"We have the box, he has the letter still," said Sapt.

I could have laughed even at that moment. He had left the box (whether
from haste or heedlessness or malice, we could not tell), but the letter
was on him. Taken alive, he would use that powerful weapon to save his
life or satisfy his anger; if it were found on his body, its evidence
would speak loud and clear to all the world. Again he was protected by
his crime: while he had the letter, he must be kept inviolate from all
attack except at our own hands. We desired his death, but we must be
his body-guard and die in his defense rather than let any other but
ourselves come at him. No open means must be used, and no allies sought.
All this rushed to my mind at Sapt's words, and I saw what the constable
and James had never forgotten. But what to do I could not see. For the
King of Ruritania lay dead.

An hour or more had passed since our discovery, and it was now close on
midnight. Had all gone well we ought by this time to have been far on
our road back to the castle; by this time Rupert must be miles away from
where he had killed the king; already Mr. Rassendyll would be seeking
his enemy in Strelsau.

"But what are we to do about--about that, then?" I asked, pointing with
my finger through the doorway towards the bed.

Sapt gave a last tug at his moustache, then crossed his hands on the
hilt of the sword between his knees, and leant forward in his chair.

"Nothing, he said," looking at my face. "Until we have the letter,
nothing."

"But it's impossible!" I cried.

"Why, no, Fritz," he answered thoughtfully. "It's not possible yet; it
may become so. But if we can catch Rupert in the next day, or even in
the next two days, it's not