“Put those on,” he commanded.

The king hesitated, drawing back in disgust.  Barney paused, half-way into the royal union suit, and leveled the revolver at Leopold.  The king picked up one of the garments gingerly between the tips of his thumb and finger.

“Hurry!” admonished the American, drawing the silk half-hose of the ruler of Lutha over his foot.  “If you don’t hurry,” he added, “someone may interrupt us, and you know what the result would be—­to you.”

Scowling, Leopold donned the rough garments.  Barney, fully clothed in the uniform the king had been wearing, stepped across the apartment to where the king’s sword and helmet lay upon the side table that had also borne the revolver.  He placed the helmet upon his head and buckled the sword-belt about his waist, then he faced the king, behind whom was a cheval glass.  In it Barney saw his image.  The king was looking at the American, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped.  Barney did not wonder at his consternation.  He himself was dumbfounded by the likeness which he bore to the king.  It was positively uncanny.  He approached Leopold.

“Remove your rings,” he said, holding out his hand.  The king did as he was bid, and Barney slipped the two baubles upon his fingers.  One of them was the royal ring of the kings of Lutha.

The American now blindfolded the king and led him toward the panel which had given him ingress to the room.  Through it the two men passed, Barney closing the panel after them.  Then he conducted the king back along the dark passageway to the room which the American had but recently quitted.  At the back of the panel which led into his former prison Barney halted and listened.  No sound came from beyond the partition.  Gently Barney opened the secret door a trifle—­just enough to permit him a quick survey of the interior of the apartment.  It was empty.  A smile crossed his face as he thought of the difficulty Leopold might encounter the following morning in convincing his jailers that he was not the American.

Then he recalled his reflection in the cheval glass and frowned.  Could Leopold convince them?  He doubted it—­and what then?  The American was sentenced to be shot at dawn.  They would shoot the king instead.  Then there would be none to whom to return the kingship.  What would he do with it?  The temptation was great.  Again a throne lay within his grasp—­a throne and the woman he loved.  None might ever know unless he chose to tell—­his resemblance to Leopold was too perfect.  It defied detection.

With an exclamation of impatience he wheeled about and dragged the frightened monarch back to the room from which he had stolen him.  As he entered he heard a knock at the door.

“Do not disturb me now,” he called.  “Come again in half an hour.”

“But it is Her Highness, Princess Emma, sire,” came a voice from beyond the door.  “You summoned her.”

“She may return to her apartments,” replied Barney.