as I said before, most of all to the very audacity of the enterprise. It is my belief that, given the necessary physical likeness, it was far easier to pretend to be king of Ruritania than it would have been to personate my next-door neighbor.
One day Sapt came into my room. He threw me a letter, saying:
"That's for you—a woman's hand, I think. But I've some news for you first."
"What's that?"
"The king's at the castle of Zenda," said he.
"How do you know?"
"Because the other half of Michael's Six are there. I had inquiries made, and they're all there—Lauengram, Krafstein, and young Rupert Hentzau; three rogues, too, on my honor, as fine as live in Ruritania."
"Well?"
"Well, Fritz wants you to march to the castle with horse, foot, and artillery."
"And drag the moat?" I asked.
"That would be about it," grinned Sapt; "and we shouldn't find the king's body then."
