Sapt, his meal finished, puffed away at his great pipe; James, after much pressure, had consented to light a small black clay, and sat at his ease with his legs stretched before him.

His brows were knit, and a curious half-smile played about his mouth.
"What may you be thinking about, friend James ?" asked the constable between two puffs.

He had taken a fancy to the alert, ready little fellow.
James smoked for a moment, and then took his pipe from his mouth.
"I was thinking, sir, that since the king is dead--" He paused.
"The king is no doubt dead, poor fellow," said Sapt, nodding.
"That since he's certainly dead, and since my master, Mr.Rassendyll, is alive--" "So far as we know, James," Sapt reminded him.
"Why, yes, sir, so far as we know.

Since, then, Mr.Rassendyll is alive and the king is dead, I was thinking that it was a great pity, sir, that my master can't take his place and be king." James looked across at the constable with an air of a man who offers a respectful suggestion.
"A remarkable thought, James," observed the constable with a grin.
"You don't agree with me, sir ?" asked James deprecatingly.
"I don't say that it isn't a pity, for Rudolf makes a good king.

But you see it's impossible, isn't it ?" James nursed his knee between his hands, and his pipe, which he had replaced, stuck out of one corner of his mouth.
"When you say impossible, sir," he remarked deferentially, "I venture to differ from you." "You do?
Come, we're at leisure.