Page:The Prisoner of Zenda.djvu/110

94 I could not bear to speak or break the poor fellow's illusion. But tough old Sapt had no such feeling. He slapped his hand on his thigh delightedly.

"Bravo, lad!" cried he. "We shall do!"

Fritz looked up in bewilderment. I held out my hand.

"You're wounded, sire!" he exclaimed.

"It's only a scratch," said I, "but——" I paused.

He rose to his feet with a bewildered air. Holding my hand, he looked me up and down, and down and up. Then suddenly he dropped my hand and reeled back.

"Where's the king? Where's the king?" he cried.

"Hush, you fool!" hissed Sapt. "Not so loud! Here's the king!"

A knock sounded at the door. Sapt seized me by the hand.

"Here, quick, to the bedroom! Off with your cap and your boots. Get into bed. Cover everything up."