“Come closer,” whispered the king.  The man did so, and the king spoke in his ear earnestly, but in scarce audible tones.  The eyes of the listener narrowed to mere slits—­of avarice and cunning, cruelly cold and calculating.  The speaker searched through the pockets of the king’s clothes that covered him.  At last he withdrew a roll of bills.  The amount must have been a large one, but he did not stop to count it.  He held the money under the eyes of the servant.  The fellow’s claw-like fingers reached for the tempting wealth.  He nodded his head affirmatively.

“You may trust me, sire,” he whispered.

The king slipped the money into the other’s palm.  “And as much more,” he said, “when I receive proof that my wishes have been fulfilled.”

“Thank you, sire,” said the servant.

The king looked steadily into the other’s face before he spoke again.

“And if you fail me,” he said, “may God have mercy on your soul.”  Then he wheeled and left the guardroom, walking out into the courtyard where the soldiers were busy saddling their mounts.

A few minutes later the party clattered over the drawbridge and down the road toward Blentz and Lustadt.  From a window of the apartments of Peter of Blentz a man watched them depart.  When they passed across a strip of moonlit road, and he had counted them, he smiled with relief.

A moment later he entered a panel beside the huge fireplace in the west wall and disappeared.  There he struck a match, found a candle and lighted it.  Walking a few steps he came to a figure sleeping upon a pile of clothing.  He stooped and shook the sleeper by the shoulder.

“Wake up!” he cried in a subdued voice.  “Wake up, Prince Peter; I have good news for you.”

The other opened his eyes, stretched, and at last sat up.

“What is it, Maenck?” he asked querulously.

“Great news, my prince,” replied the other.

“While you have been sleeping many things have transpired within the walls of your castle.  The king’s troopers have departed; but that is a small matter compared with the other.  Here, behind the portrait of your great-grandmother, I have listened and watched all night.  I opened the secret door a fraction of an inch—­just enough to permit me to look into the apartment where the king and the American lay wounded.  They had been talking as I opened the door, but after that they ceased—­the king falling asleep at once—­the American feigning slumber.  For a long time I watched, but nothing happened until near midnight.  Then the American arose and donned the king’s clothes.

“He approached Leopold with drawn sword, but when he would have thrust it through the heart of the sleeping man his nerve failed him.  Then he stole some papers from the room and left.  Just now he has ridden out toward Lustadt with the men of the Royal Horse who captured the castle yesterday.”

Before Maenck was half-way through his narrative, Peter of Blentz was wide awake and all attention.  His eyes glowed with suddenly aroused interest.