“The lodge is safe enough,” said Colonel Sapt. Unquestionably there was a secret, a new secret, hidden behind the curt words and brusque manner. I could restrain myself no longer, and sprang forward, saying: “What is it? Tell us, Constable!” He looked at me, then glanced at Mr. Rassendyll. “I should like to hear your plan first,” he said to Rudolf. “How do you mean to account for your presence alive in the city to-day, when the king has lain dead in the shooting-box since last night?” We drew close together as Rudolf began his answer. Sapt alone lay back in his chair. The queen also had resumed her seat; she seemed to pay little heed to what we said. I think that she was still engrossed with the struggle and tumult in her own soul. The sin of which she accused herself, and the joy to which her whole being sprang in a greeting which would not be abashed, were at strife between themselves, but joined hands to exclude from her mind any other thought. “In an hour I must be gone from here,” began Rudolf. “If you wish that, it’s easy,” observed Colonel Sapt. “Come, Sapt, be reasonable,” smiled Mr. Rassendyll. “Early to-morrow, we--you and I--” “Oh, I also?” asked the colonel. “Yes; you, Bernenstein, and I will be at the lodge.” “That’s not impossible, though I have had nearly enough riding.” Rudolf fixed his eyes firmly on Sapt’s. “You see,” he said, “the king reaches his hunting-lodge early in the morning.” “I follow you, sire.” “And what happens there, Sapt? Does he shoot himself accidentally?” “Well, that happens sometimes.” “Or does an assassin kill him?” “Eh, but you’ve made the best assassin unavailable.” Even at this moment I could not help smiling at the old fellow’s surly wit and Rudolf’s amused tolerance of it. “Or does his faithful attendant, Herbert, shoot him?” “What, make poor Herbert a murderer!” “Oh, no! By accident--and then, in remorse, kill himself.” “That’s very pretty. But doctors have awkward views as to when a man can have shot himself.” “My good Constable, doctors have palms as well as ideas. If you fill the one you supply the other.” “I think,” said Sapt, “that both the plans are good. Suppose we choose the latter, what then?” “Why, then, by to-morrow at midday the news flashes through Ruritania--yes, and through Europe--that the king, miraculously preserved to-day--” “Praise be to God!” interjected Colonel Sapt; and young Bernenstein laughed. “Has met a tragic end.” “It will occasion great grief,” said Sapt. “Meanwhile, I am safe over the frontier.” “Oh, you are quite safe?” “Absolutely. And in the afternoon of to-morrow, you and Bernenstein will set out for Strelsau, bringing with you the body of the king.” And Rudolf, after a pause, whispered, “You must shave his face. And if the doctors want to talk about how long he’s been dead, why, they have, as I say, palms.”