"I can think of nothing," muttered Sapt, rising from his chair
and moving across towards the window in search of the fresh air
that a man so often thinks will give him a fresh idea. He was in
his own quarters, that room of the new chateau which opens on to
the moat immediately to the right of the drawbridge as you face
the old castle; it was the room which Duke Michael had occupied,
and almost opposite to the spot where the great pipe had
connected the window of the king's dungeon with the waters of the
moat. The bridge was down now, for peaceful days had come to
Zenda; the pipe was gone, and the dungeon's window, though still
barred, was uncovered. The night was clear and fine, and the
still water gleamed fitfully as the moon, half-full, escaped from
or was hidden by passing clouds. Sapt stood staring out gloomily,
beating his knuckles on the stone sill. The fresh air was there,
but the fresh idea tarried.
Suddenly the constable bent forward, craning his head out and
down, far as he could stretch it, towards the water. What he had
seen, or seemed dimly to see, is a sight common enough on the
surface of water--large circular eddies, widening from a centre;
a stone thrown in makes them, or a fish on the rise.
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