Rupert of Hentzau: From The Memoirs of Fritz Von Tarlenheim<br />Sequel to The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope (the reading list TXT) 📗

“Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?”

“In about twenty minutes,” said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece.

At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared.

“The coats of your dogs,” pursued the king, “grow so beautifully—”

“A thousand pardons, sire, but—”

“Long and silky, that I despair of—”

“I have a most urgent and important matter,” persisted Rischenheim in agony.

Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. “Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs.”

Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king’s left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them.

“Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message.”

Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air.

“I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau,” said he.

“Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count’s hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty.”

“The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure.”

“Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty’s honor.”

“By whom, my lord?” asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones.

“By those who are very near your Majesty’s person and very high in your Majesty’s love.”

“Name them.”

“Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence.”

“Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted.”

“Sire, I have a copy—”

“Oh, a copy, my lord?” sneered Rudolf.

“My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty’s command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty’s—”

“Of the queen’s?”

“Yes, sire. It is addressed to—” Rischenheim paused.

“Well, my lord, to whom?”

“To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll.”

Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, “Give it me, give it me.”

Rischenheim’s eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king’s attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king.

“My cousin,” he continued, “conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it—”

“A curse on how he got it! Give it me!”

Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper.

But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll’s: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king’s face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king’s. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf’s left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf’s revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, “You’d best take it quietly.” Then Sapt stepped out.

Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count’s revolver and stowed it in his own pocket.

“Now take the paper,” said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. “Look if it’s the right one. No, don’t read it through; just look. Is it right? That’s good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I’m going to search him. Stand up, sir.”

They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll.

“Yet you’ve seen me before, I think,” smiled Rudolf. “I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?” For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim.

But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed.

“The king’s servant has just gone by. He’s looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim’s arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment.”

Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner’s side.

“We must talk again later on,” he said, in low quick tones. “Now you’re going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I’ll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha’n’t stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there’s an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it.”

“All right,” said Rudolf Rassendyll. “I can read my letter there.”

“Burn it, you fool.”

“When I’ve read it I’ll eat it, if you like, but