CHAPTER 4

The King Keeps His Appointment


Whether I had slept a minute or a year I knew not. I awoke with a start
and a shiver; my face, hair and clothes dripped water, and opposite me
stood old Sapt, a sneering smile on his face and an empty bucket in his
hand. On the table by him sat Fritz von Tarlenheim, pale as a ghost and
black as a crow under the eyes.

I leapt to my feet in anger.

"Your joke goes too far, sir!" I cried.

"Tut, man, we've no time for quarrelling. Nothing else would rouse you.
It's five o'clock."

"I'll thank you, Colonel Sapt--" I began again, hot in spirit, though I
was uncommonly cold in body.

"Rassendyll," interrupted Fritz, getting down from the table and taking
my arm, "look here."

The King lay full length on the floor. His face was red as his hair,
and he breathed heavily. Sapt, the disrespectful old dog, kicked him
sharply. He did not stir, nor was there any break in his breathing. I