"We're playing against time," I added. "Every day we leave the King
where he is there is fresh risk. Every day I masquerade like this, there
is fresh risk. Sapt, we must play high; we must force the game."
"So be it," he said, with a sigh.
To cut the story short, at half-past eleven that night Sapt and I
mounted our horses. Fritz was again left on guard, our destination not
being revealed to him. It was a very dark night. I wore no sword, but I
carried a revolver, a long knife, and a bull's-eye lantern. We arrived
outside the gate. I dismounted. Sapt held out his hand.
"I shall wait here," he said. "If I hear a shot, I'll--"
"Stay where you are; it's the King's only chance. You mustn't come to
grief too."
"You're right, lad. Good luck!"
I pressed the little gate. It yielded, and I found myself in a wild sort
of shrubbery. There was a grass-grown path and, turning to the right as
I had been bidden, I followed it cautiously. My lantern was closed, the
revolver was in my hand. I heard not a sound. Presently a large dark
object loomed out of the gloom ahead of me. It was the summer-house.
Reaching the steps, I mounted them and found myself confronted by a
weak, rickety wooden door, which hung upon the latch. I pushed it open
and walked in. A woman flew to me and seized my hand.
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