The red HEIR of the fair King would be a son." Possibly this delicate mot on the approaching marriage of the King was lost in the translation, for the stranger strode abruptly away.

I learned, however, that the King was actually then in Bock, at the castle a few miles distant, in the woods.

I resolved to stroll thither.
It was a fine old mediaeval structure.

But as the singular incidents I am about to relate combine the romantic and adventurous atmosphere of the middle ages with all the appliances of modern times, I may briefly state that the castle was lit by electricity, bad fire-escapes on each of the turrets, four lifts, and was fitted up by one of the best West End establishments.

The sanitary arrangements were excellent, and the drainage of the most perfect order, as I had reason to know personally later.