“No, Sire.”
“You see it is empty.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I could gage my life that within the last hour it held that fateful gem won by the Kings of England, the jewel from the French crown. Now, man, who is the robber? Speak!”
“Ah!” half whispered the chamberlain. “Your Majesty is right. This disappearance is accounted for at once. It must have been—”
“The Comte de la Seine!” raged out the King. “Stolen not only from my own palace, but out of my own private apartments, where I am supposed to be guarded night and day. Hurst,” he continued grimly. “I am afraid some one is going to die on account of this. But the robbers cannot have gone far. They must be somewhere about.”
“Yes, Sire. There are guards everywhere, and the gates are closed. They must be in the castle still.”
“Then this be my task,” cried the King, “to hunt the cunning schemers down. This way first. There should be two guards at the head of the south staircase—if they are not asleep.”
In his excitement the King drew his sword and led the way to where the two officers were on duty, ready to challenge and answer frankly that only one person had passed there, and that the young esquire in the Comte de la Seine’s suite.
“Bah! We are on the wrong track,” said the King angrily. “They would not come this way. That boy was probably sent to take the guards’ attention while the deed was done. Come back, Hurst; this way. You men arrest anybody who tries to pass you, no matter who it may be. Now, Hurst, quick, for the game is afoot and we must run it down.”