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

“No, it’s not the king,” came in unhesitating certainty from Queen Flavia.

They waited: a low knock sounded on the door. Still for a moment they waited. The knock was repeated urgently.

“We must open,” said Sapt. “Behind the curtain with you, Rudolf.”

The queen sat down, and Sapt piled a heap of papers before her, that it might seem as though he and she transacted business. But his precautions were interrupted by a hoarse, eager, low cry from outside, “Quick! in God’s name, quick!”

They knew the voice for Bernenstein’s. The queen sprang up, Rudolf came out, Sapt turned the key. The lieutenant entered, hurried, breathless, pale.

“Well?” asked Sapt.

“He has got away?” cried Rudolf, guessing in a moment the misfortune that had brought Bernenstein back.

“Yes, he’s got away. Just as we left the town and reached the open road towards Tarlenheim, he said, ‘Are we going to walk all the way? I was not loath to go quicker, and we broke into a trot. But I—ah, what a pestilent fool I am!”

“Never mind that—go on.”

“Why, I was thinking of him and my task, and having a bullet ready for him, and—”

“Of everything except your horse?” guessed Sapt, with a grim smile.

“Yes; and the horse pecked and stumbled, and I fell forward on his neck. I put out my arm to recover myself, and—I jerked my revolver on to the ground.”

“And he saw?”

“He saw, curse him. For a second he waited; then he smiled, and turned, and dug his spurs in and was off, straight across country towards Strelsau. Well, I was off my horse in a moment, and I fired three times after him.”

“You hit?” asked Rudolf.

“I think so. He shifted the reins from one hand to the other and wrung his arm. I mounted and made after him, but his horse was better than mine and he gained ground. We began to meet people, too, and I didn’t dare to fire again. So I left him and rode here to tell you. Never employ me again, Constable, so long as you live,” and the young man’s face was twisted with misery and shame, as, forgetting the queen’s presence, he sank despondently into a chair.

Sapt took no notice of his self-reproaches. But Rudolf went and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“It was an accident,” he said. “No blame to you.”

The queen rose and walked towards him; Bernenstein sprang to his feet.

“Sir,” said she, “it is not success but effort that should gain thanks,” and she held out her hand.

Well, he was young; I do not laugh at the sob that escaped his lips as he turned his head.

“Let me try something else!” he implored.

“Mr. Rassendyll,” said the queen, “you’ll do my pleasure by employing this gentleman in my further service. I am already deep in his debt, and would be deeper.” There was a moment’s silence.

“Well, but what’s to be done?” asked Colonel Sapt. “He’s gone to Strelsau.”

“He’ll stop Rupert,” mused Mr. Rassendyll. “He may or he mayn’t.”

“It’s odds that he will.”

“We must provide for both.”

Sapt and Rudolf looked at one another.

“You must be here!” asked Rudolf of the constable. “Well, I’ll go to Strelsau.” His smile broke out. “That is, if Bernenstein’ll lend me a hat.”

The queen made no sound; but she came and laid her hand on his arm. He looked at her, smiling still.

“Yes, I’ll go to Strelsau,” said he, “and I’ll find Rupert, ay, and Rischenheim too, if they’re in the city.”

“Take me with you,” cried Bernenstein eagerly.

Rudolf glanced at Sapt. The constable shook his head. Bernenstein’s face fell.

“It’s not that, boy,” said old Sapt, half in kindness, half in impatience. “We want you here. Suppose Rupert comes here with Rischenheim!”

The idea was new, but the event was by no means unlikely.

“But you’ll be here, Constable,” urged Bernenstein, “and Fritz von Tarlenheim will arrive in an hour.”

“Ay, young man,” said Sapt, nodding his head; “but when I fight Rupert of Hentzau, I like to have a man to spare,” and he grinned broadly, being no whit afraid of what Bernenstein might think of his courage. “Now go and get him a hat,” he added, and the lieutenant ran off on the errand.

But the queen cried:

“Are you sending Rudolf alone, then—alone against two?”

“Yes, madam, if I may command the campaign,” said Sapt. “I take it he should be equal to the task.”

He could not know the feelings of the queen’s heart. She dashed her hand across her eyes, and turned in mute entreaty to Rudolf Rassendyll.

“I must go,” he said softly. “We can’t spare Bernenstein, and I mustn’t stay here.”

She said no more. Rudolf walked across to Sapt.

“Take me to the stables. Is the horse good? I daren’t take the train. Ah, here’s the lieutenant and the hat.”

“The horse’ll get you there to-night,” said Sapt. “Come along. Bernenstein, stay with the queen.”

At the threshold Rudolf paused, and, turning his head, glanced once at Queen Flavia, who stood still as a statue, watching him go. Then he followed the constable, who brought him where the horse was. Sapt’s devices for securing freedom from observation had served well, and Rudolf mounted unmolested.

“The hat doesn’t fit very well,” said Rudolf.

“Like a crown better, eh?” suggested the colonel.

Rudolf laughed as he asked, “Well, what are my orders?”

“Ride round by the moat to the road at the back; then through the forest to Hofbau; you know your way after that. You mustn’t reach Strelsau till it’s dark. Then, if you want a shelter—”

“To Fritz von Tarlenheim’s, yes! From there I shall go straight to the address.”

“Ay. And—Rudolf!”

“Yes?”

“Make an end of him this time.”

“Please God. But if he goes to the lodge? He will, unless Rischenheim stops him.”