“Aha!” said King Kul, striking his hands lightly together as he glanced round the breakfast table, “what good things have we to eat this morning? I see kidneys—kippers—a dressed ham—pies of various sorts. Come, our cousin of Snerg, let me recommend the grouse pie.”
“Thank you,” replied King Merse, helping himself to a good deal. “Are grouse plentiful here?”
“Very plentiful. When you come again we must get up some hawking parties. Mynheer Vanderdecken, this wine is a good breakfast vintage. Let me fill your goblet—But where are our little guests? I heard their merry prattle from my window long ago, when I was having my early hippocras and sandwich.”
Before anyone could answer, the Lady Ermyntrude came rushing into the hall holding her skirts some six inches from the ground to facilitate her movements.
“Sire,” she panted, “the children cannot be found! I left them about an hour ago in order to powder my—I mean to arrange my coiffure—and they have gone!”
“Gone where?” exclaimed both monarchs, rising to their feet.
“Alas, I cannot say. The household varlets have searched the gardens and called to them, but they cannot be found. The guards at the palace gates have not seen them pass. But they are lost!”
“Tut, tut!” said King Kul, “that seems impossible. They are playing some prank on you. Have you searched the herbaceous borders?”
“Yes, sire, everywhere. But they cannot be found.”
Amid general consternation the Captain of the Gate was sent for and came on the run, bolting a crust and brushing crumbs from himself.
“Come, come!” said the King angrily, “you must learn to eat in your own time. We like not this munching in our presence. Now tell me if those children passed the gates this morning.”
The Captain made an effort and bolted what was left of the crust. “No, sire,” he replied. “Only serving-men have passed in or out on your Majesty’s affairs. They and one old man.”
“What manner of old man?”
“Of very indifferent manner, sire. He came early this morning to offer fat boiling fowls for your Majesty’s kitchen. He had a thin grey beard and he wore a high peaked hat and a cloak and he rode an ass.”
“That does not help us very much,” remarked the King, pondering deeply.
“Not at all, sire. We were glad to see him pass out, for when he had sold his fowls he brought forth bagpipes from under his cloak and played most execrable music. He went out a-riding his ass, with his feet disposed on his two covered baskets that hung on either side, and there were none that did not stop their ears as he passed. My own ears still ding with the fearsome squealing.”
“Enough of this old man and your ears,” said the King impatiently. “Now let my soldiers search----”
He was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Gorbo, who darted out from the throng and flung out his arms before him.
“It’s Mother Meldrum!” he cried, “The old man was Mother Meldrum! She’s got them after all!”
“Got them where?” roared the King and a few other people.
“In the baskets! She popped them in the baskets and played bagpipes so that people wouldn’t hear them screaming! Oh!”--here he flung his cap on the ground and jumped on it and tore his hair.
There was a momentary silence of astonishment. That Gorbo, already widely known in these parts as the prize fool of the strange race of Snergs, should find the solution of the mystery came as a bit of a shock. King Merse stared at him as if he were experiencing something of a miracle.
“He is right,” exclaimed King Kul. “If this toss-pot and muncher had had the sense to see what is plain to us all” (he forgot that he hadn’t seen it himself until it was shouted at him) “those children would not be now in the power of that wretch. Let no one rest until they are found, or avenged—Ha, here comes one who may help us,” he went on. “Welcome back, Sir Giles. Have you any news?”
“Ay, your Majesty, lots,” replied that capable knight, clanking up the hall. “But I have not found Golithos. His tower is empty except for miscellaneous rubbish, and the doors swing idly in the wind. He has flown.” His voice was hoarse with weariness and his mail showed signs of hard travel.
“Flown, has he? And Mother Meldrum?”
“She also has flown—probably on a broomstick. Her house is dismantled and deserted, and doubtless the foul things of the haunted woods will hold their revels there to-night. Ugh!” He shuddered, for though he was dauntless where a reasonable number of caitiffs were concerned he had no taste for the supernatural.
“Strange,” said the King musingly. “The plot thickens—But you are weary, Sir Giles. Pray seat yourself beside us while we consider the matter.”
“Thanks, sire, but I prefer standing. I have sat some score of hours or more.”
“I fear you will have to sit some more, good knight, for you must mount and lead your men again. Come, sirs, let us consider what course we are now to take.”