He was no swordsman, though he fought bravely, and in a moment he lay on the floor before me.

I turned--Detchard was not there.

Faithful to his orders, he had not risked a fight with me, but had rushed straight to the door of the King's room, opened it and slammed it behind him.

Even now he was at his work inside.
And surely he would have killed the King, and perhaps me also, had it not been for one devoted man who gave his life for the King.

For when I forced the door, the sight I saw was this: the King stood in the corner of the room: broken by his sickness, he could do nothing; his fettered hands moved uselessly up and down, and he was laughing horribly in half-mad delirium.