As we did so we heard a distant roar from the city.
Fritz turned an ashen gray, Spitz a livid blue. "Are we too late?"
he gasped, as we madly fought our way into the street, where shouts
of "The King! The King!" were rending the air. "Can it be Black
Michael?" But here the crowd parted, and a procession, preceded by
outriders, flashed into the square. And there, seated in a
carriage beside the most beautiful red-haired girl I had ever seen,
was the King,--the King whom we had left two hours ago, dead drunk
in the hut in the forest!
CHAPTERS III TO XXII (Inclusive)
IN WHICH THINGS GET MIXED
We reeled against each other aghast! Spitz recovered himself
first. "We must fly!" he said hoarsely. "If the King has
discovered our trick--we are lost!"
"But where shall we go?" I asked.
"Back to the hut."
We caught the next train to Bock. An hour later we stood panting
within the hut. Its walls and ceiling were splashed with sinister
red stains. "Blood!" I exclaimed joyfully. "At last we have a
real mediaeval adventure!"
"It's Burgundy, you fool," growled Spitz; "good Burgundy wasted!"
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.
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