“They make good stories there?” “Yes, sir, and act them sometimes.” The instant he had spoken, James sprang to his feet and pointed out of the window. A man on horseback was cantering towards the lodge. Exchanging one quick look, both hastened to the door, and, advancing some twenty yards, waited under the tree on the spot where Boris lay buried. “By the way,” said Sapt, “you forgot the dog.” And he pointed to the ground. “The affectionate beast will be in his master’s room and die there, sir.” “Eh, but he must rise again first!” “Certainly, sir. That won’t be a long matter.” Sapt was still smiling in grim amusement when the messenger came up and, leaning from his horse, handed him a telegram. “Special and urgent, sir,” said he. Sapt tore it open and read. It was the message that I sent in obedience to Mr. Rassendyll’s orders. He would not trust my cipher, but, indeed, none was necessary. Sapt would understand the message, although it said simply, “The king is in Strelsau. Wait orders at the lodge. Business here in progress, but not finished. Will wire again.” Sapt handed it to James, who took it with a respectful little bow. James read it with attention, and returned it with another bow. “I’ll attend to what it says, sir,” he remarked. “Yes,” said Sapt. “Thanks, my man,” he added to the messenger. “Here’s a crown for you. If any other message comes for me and you bring it in good time, you shall have another.” “You shall have it quick as a horse can bring it from the station, sir.” “The king’s business won’t bear delay, you know,” nodded Sapt. “You sha’n’t have to wait, sir,” and, with a parting salute, the fellow turned his horse and trotted away. “You see,” remarked Sapt, “that your story is quite imaginary. For that fellow can see for himself that the lodge was not burnt down last night.” “That’s true; but, excuse me, sir--” “Pray go on, James. I’ve told you that I’m interested.” “He can’t see that it won’t be burnt down to-night. A fire, sir, is a thing that may happen any night.” Then old Sapt suddenly burst into a roar, half-speech, half laughter. “By God, what a thing!” he roared; and James smiled complacently. “There’s a fate about it,” said the constable. “There’s a strange fate about it. The man was born to it. We’d have done it before if Michael had throttled the king in that cellar, as I thought he would. Yes, by heavens, we’d have done it! Why, we wanted it! God forgive us, in our hearts both Fritz and I wanted it. But Rudolf would have the king out. He would have him out, though he lost a throne--and what he wanted more--by it. But he would have him out. So he thwarted the fate. But it’s not to be thwarted. Young Rupert may think this new affair is his doing. No, it’s the fate using him. The fate brought Rudolf here again, the fate will have him king. Well, you stare at me. Do you think I’m mad, Mr. Valet?” “I think, sir, that you talk very good sense, if I may say so,” answered James.