The man leaned from his horse close to Peter’s ear.
“The king is in Tafelberg, your highness,” he said.
“The king is dead,” snapped Peter. “There is an impostor in the palace at Lustadt. But the real Leopold of Lutha was slain by Yellow Franz’s band of brigands weeks ago.”
“I heard the man at Tafelberg tell another that he was the king,” insisted the fellow. “Through the keyhole of his room I saw him take a great ring from his finger—a ring with a mighty ruby set in its center—and give it to the other. Both were bearded men with gray eyes—either might have passed for the king by the description upon the placards that have covered Lutha for the past month. At first he denied his identity, but when the other had convinced him that he sought only the king’s welfare he at last admitted that he was Leopold.”
“Where is he now?” cried Peter.
“He is still in the sanatorium at Tafelberg. In room twenty-seven. The other promised to return for him and take him to Lustadt, but when I left Tafelberg he had not yet done so, and if you hasten you may reach there before they take him away, and if there be any reward for my loyalty to you, prince, my name is Ferrath.”
“Ride with us and if you have told the truth, fellow, there shall be a reward and if not—then there shall be deserts,” and Peter of Blentz wheeled his horse and with his company galloped on toward Tafelberg.
As he rode he talked with his lieutenants Coblich, Maenck, and Stein, and among them it was decided that it would be best that Peter stop at Blentz for the night while the others rode on to Tafelberg.
“Do not bring Leopold to Blentz,” directed Peter, “for if it be he who lies at Tafelberg and they find him gone it will be toward Blentz that they will first look. Take him—”
The Regent leaned from his saddle so that his mouth was close to the ear of Coblich, that none of the troopers might hear.