At this moment Fritz appeared dragging in the hut-keeper.

"Where is the King?" demanded Spitz fiercely of the trembling
peasant.

"He was carried away an hour ago by Black Michael and taken to the
castle."

"And when did he LEAVE the castle?" roared Spitz.

"He never left the castle, sir, and, alas! I fear never will,
alive!" replied the man, shuddering.

We stared at each other! Spitz bit his grizzled mustache. "So,"
he said bitterly, "Black Michael has simply anticipated us with the
same game! We have been tricked. I knew it could not be the King
whom they crowned! No!" he added quickly, "I see it all--it was
Rupert of Glasgow!"

"Who is Rupert of Glasgow?" I cried.

"Oh, I really can't go over all that family rot again," grunted
Spitz. "Tell him, Fritz."

Then, taking me aside, Fritz delicately informed me that Rupert of
Glasgow--a young Scotchman--claimed equally with myself descent
from the old Rupert, and that equally with myself he resembled the
King. That Michael had got possession of him on his arrival in the
country, kept him closely guarded in the castle, and had hid his
resemblance in a black wig and false mustache; that the young