THE RED KING

WINSTON LED THEM from the Grand Ballroom down a flight of stairs, to a pair of doors all painted in red and gold. A smiling mask decorated the right-hand door, and a sad mask decorated the left-hand door.

“Here we go,” said Winston, opening the doors wide. “The latest thing in theaters! Suitable for Shakespeare or vaudeville, and not only that—we have one of these newfangled cinematograph screens and projectors!”

“What’s a cinematograph?” asked Emma and Masterman at the same time.

“Er—you know.” Mrs. Beet gestured as though she were turning a crank. “Moving pictures?”

“Ah! Old-time movies, to be sure,” said Captain Doubloon. “Where’s this Red King, then?”

They looked around. There were a hundred red velvet seats, and red velvet curtains across the front of the stage, all embroidered with golden laurel leaves. The lighting came from eight carved figures, a little bigger than life-size, along the two walls. Each one held up a candelabrum with little electric bulbs in it. They wore white drapes as though they were supposed to be gods and goddesses from mythology, all except for the third figure on the left-hand side.

“That’s the Red King,” announced Masterman, and raced down the aisle toward it. Emma followed him closely, and the two children stood staring up at the Red King.

He was dressed in very old-fashioned robes, all in shades of bright red. One hand held up the candelabra, but the other hand held a sword. He had an emblem on his chest, showing a round sun with pointed rays.

“Well?” said Captain Doubloon, puffing for breath as he caught up with the children. “The Red King will tell us hisself? I don’t hear him doing no talking.”

“Maybe he’s got a speaker hidden in him,” said Emma.

“The middle of that sun emblem looks an awful lot like a button,” observed Mrs. Beet. “What happens if you push it?”

Captain Doubloon reached up, meaning to press the sun on the Red King’s chest, but suddenly the arm with the sword swung down. The captain staggered back, narrowly avoiding having his other eye put out by the point of the sword. “Awk! Abandon ship!” screamed the parrot, fluttering away to the safety of one of the theater seats.

“HALT!” roared a scratchy-sounding voice that seemed to come from behind the door. “AWAY, THOU BASEBORN CHURL!”

“Dear heaven!” said Mrs. Beet. “You don’t suppose he’s got some kind of guard walled up in there, looking after the treasure?”

“No,” said Emma. “It sounded more like an old record to me. A recording,” she added, for Mrs. Beet looked confused.

“Oh! Like one of Mr. Edison’s phonograph cylinders?”

“That’s what it must be, all right,” said Winston. “Because that was Mr. Wenlocke’s voice!” He stepped forward and reached for the emblem on the Red King’s chest, but once again the arm with the sword swung out. Winston ducked, but his hat was knocked off. “Gee whiz!”

“WHO DARES TRESPASS ON MY ROYAL DOMAIN?” bellowed the scratchy voice.

“You don’t understand,” said Masterman. “Notice what he said? ‘Baseborn churl’? ‘Royal domain’? He means the treasure isn’t for just anybody. Only a special person, like one of us Wenlockes, can get to it.”

“I’ll bet you’re wrong,” said Emma. She stepped close to the Red King, as quickly as she could, so that by the time his sword came swinging down she was behind his arm and out of danger. She pressed the sun emblem on his chest. The whole round emblem popped out at one side, like a little door opening. Behind it was a keyhole. “Haar!” cried Captain Doubloon. “Where be that key?”

Masterman pulled it from his pocket, sighing sadly, and handed it over to Captain Doubloon. The key went into the lock and turned—and, without a sound, the wall panel beside them slid open.