James laid down his pipe, and, resting his hands on his knees, continued his story. “This lodge, sir, this wooden lodge--for the lodge is all of wood, sir, without and within.” “This lodge is undoubtedly of wood, James, and, as you say, both inside and out.” “And since it is, sir, it would be mighty careless to leave a candle burning where the oil and firewood are stored.” “Most criminal!” “But hard words don’t hurt dead men; and you see, sir, poor Herbert is dead.” “It is true. He wouldn’t feel aggrieved.” “But we, sir, you and I, awaking--” “Aren’t the others to awake, James?” “Indeed, sir, I should pray that they had never awaked. For you and I, waking first, would find the lodge a mass of flames. We should have to run for our lives.” “What! Should we make no effort to rouse the others?” “Indeed, sir, we should do all that men could do; we should even risk death by suffocation.” “But we should fail, in spite of our heroism, should we?” “Alas, sir, in spite of all our efforts we should fail. The flames would envelop the lodge in one blaze; before help could come, the lodge would be in ruins, and my unhappy master and poor Herbert would be consumed to ashes.” “Hum!” “They would, at least, sir, be entirely unrecognizable.” “You think so?” “Beyond doubt, if the oil and the firewood and the candle were placed to the best advantage.” “Ah, yes. And there would be an end of Rudolf Rassendyll?” “Sir, I should myself carry the tidings to his family.” “Whereas the King of Ruritania--” “Would enjoy a long and prosperous reign, God willing, sir.” “And the Queen of Ruritania, James?” “Do not misunderstand me, sir. They could be secretly married. I should say re-married.” “Yes, certainly, re-married.” “By a trustworthy priest.” “You mean by an untrustworthy priest?” “It’s the same thing, sir, from a different point of view.” For the first time James smiled a thoughtful smile. Sapt in his turn laid down his pipe now, and was tugging at his moustache. There was a smile on his lips too, and his eyes looked hard into James’s. The little man met his glance composedly. “It’s an ingenious fancy, this of yours, James,” the constable remarked. “What, though, if your master’s killed too? That’s quite possible. Count Rupert’s a man to be reckoned with.” “If my master is killed, sir, he must be buried,” answered James. “In Strelsau?” came in quick question from Sapt. “He won’t mind where, sir.” “True, he won’t mind, and we needn’t mind for him.” “Why, no, sir. But to carry a body secretly from here to Strelsau--” “Yes, that is, as we agreed at the first, difficult. Well, it’s a pretty story, but--your master wouldn’t approve of it. Supposing he were not killed, I mean.” “It’s a waste of time, sir, disapproving of what’s done: he might think the story better than the truth, although it’s not a good story.” The two men’s eyes met again in a long glance. “Where do you come from?” asked Sapt, suddenly. “London, sir, originally.”