his sword, all with the speed of lightning and the address of the
man who for ten years had walked amid perils, and learned to
depend upon his blade. That swift action sealed his doom. Their
orders were to take him living or dead, and standing in awe of
his repute, they were not the men to incur risks. Even as he came
on guard, a partisan grazed his head, and another opened his
breast.

He went down, coughing and gasping, blood dabbling his bright
golden hair, and staining the priceless Mechlin at his throat,
yet his right hand still desperately clutching his useless sword.

His assassins stood about him, their partisans levelled to strike
again, and summoned him to yield. Then, beside one of them, he
suddenly beheld the Countess von Platen materializing out of the
surrounding shadows as it seemed, and behind her the squat,
ungraceful figure of the Elector. He fought for breath.
"I am slain," he gasped, "and as I am to appear before my Maker
I swear to you that the Princess Sophia is innocent. Spare her at
least, your Highness."

"Innocent!" said the Elector hoarsely. "Then what did you now in
her apartments?

"It was a trap set for us by this foul hag, who . . ."

The heel of the vindictive harridan ground viciously upon the
lips of the dying man and choked his utterance. Thereafter the
halberts finished him off, and he was buried there and then, in
lime, under the floor of the Hall of Knights, under the very spot