There was a cry of wild wonder, "The King!" and then I, like Rupert of Hentzau, sword in hand, vaulted over the parapet, intent on finishing my quarrel with him where I saw his curly head fifteen yards off in the water of the moat.
He swam swiftly and easily.

I was weary and half crippled with my wounded arm.

I could not gain on him.

For a time I made no sound, but as we rounded the corner of the old keep I cried: "Stop, Rupert, stop!" I saw him look over his shoulder, but he swam on.

He was under the bank now, searching, as I guessed, for a spot that he could climb.