idea that he could go on if he got a drink of brandy turned him in the direction of the cellar. But his strength failed, and he sank down where we found him, not knowing whether the King were dead or still alive, and unable even to make his way back to the room where his master lay stretched on the ground.
I had listened to the story, bound as though by a spell. Half-way through, James's hand had crept to my arm and rested there; when Herbert finished I heard the little man licking his lips, again and again slapping his tongue against them. Then I looked at Sapt. He was pale as a ghost, and the lines on his face seemed to have grown deeper. He glanced up and met my regard. Neither of us spoke; we exchanged thoughts with our eyes. "This is our work," we said to one another. "It was our trap—these are our victims." I cannot even now think of that hour, for by our act the King lay dead.
But was he dead? I seized Sapt by the arm. His glance questioned me.
"The King?" I whispered hoarsely.
"Yes, the King," he returned.
Facing round, we walked to the door of the dining-room. Here I turned suddenly faint, and clutched at the Constable. He held me up and pushed the door wide open. The smell of powder was in the room; it seemed as if the smoke hung about, curling in dim coils round the chandelier, which gave a
