“I shall go to the summer-house.”

“I’m hanged if you shall!”

I rose and leant my back against the mantelpiece.

“Sapt, I believe in that woman, and I shall go.”

“I don’t believe in any woman,” said Sapt, “and you shan’t go.”

“I either go to the summer-house or back to England,” said I.

Sapt began to know exactly how far he could lead or drive, and when he must follow.

“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.

“Shut the door,” she whispered.

I obeyed and turned the light of my lantern on her. She was in evening dress, arrayed very sumptuously, and her dark striking beauty was marvellously displayed in the glare of the bull’s-eye. The summer- house was a bare little room, furnished only with a couple of chairs and a small iron table, such as one sees in a tea garden or an open-air cafe.

“Don’t talk,” she said. “We’ve no time. Listen! I know you, Mr. Rassendyll. I wrote that letter at the duke’s orders.”

“So I thought,” said I.

“In twenty minutes three men will be here to kill you.”

“Three—the three?”

“Yes. You must be gone by then. If not, tonight you’ll be killed—”

“Or they will.”