The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope (i read a book txt) 📗

I sprang to my feet. Sapt laid down his pipe.

“Antoinette de Mauban, by heaven!” I cried.

“How do you know?” asked Sapt.

I told him what I knew of the lady, and how I knew it. He nodded.

“It’s so far true that she’s had a great row with Michael,” said he, thoughtfully.

“If she would, she could be useful,” I said.

“I believe, though, that Michael wrote that letter.”

“So do I, but I mean to know for certain. I shall go, Sapt.”

“No, I shall go,” said he.

“You may go as far as the gate.”

“I shall go to the summer-house.”

“I’m hanged if you shall!”

I rose and leant my back against the mantelpiece.

“Sapt, I believe in that woman, and I shall go.”

“I don’t believe in any woman,” said Sapt, “and you shan’t go.”

“I either go to the summer-house or back to England,” said I.

Sapt began to know exactly how far he could lead or drive, and when he must follow.

“We’re playing against time,” I added. “Every day we leave the King where he is there is fresh risk. Every day I masquerade like this, there is fresh risk. Sapt, we must play high; we must force the game.”

“So be it,” he said, with a sigh.

To cut the story short, at half-past eleven that night Sapt and I mounted our horses. Fritz was again left on guard, our destination not being revealed to him. It was a very dark night. I wore no sword, but I carried a revolver, a long knife, and a bull’s-eye lantern. We arrived outside the gate. I dismounted. Sapt held out his hand.

“I shall wait here,” he said. “If I hear a shot, I’ll—”

“Stay where you are; it’s the King’s only chance. You mustn’t come to grief too.”

“You’re right, lad. Good luck!”

I pressed the little gate. It yielded, and I found myself in a wild sort of shrubbery. There was a grass-grown path and, turning to the right as I had been bidden, I followed it cautiously. My lantern was closed, the revolver was in my hand. I heard not a sound. Presently a large dark object loomed out of the gloom ahead of me. It was the summer-house. Reaching the steps, I mounted them and found myself confronted by a weak, rickety wooden door, which hung upon the latch. I pushed it open and walked in. A woman flew to me and seized my hand.

“Shut the door,” she whispered.

I obeyed and turned the light of my lantern on her. She was in evening dress, arrayed very sumptuously, and her dark striking beauty was marvellously displayed in the glare of the bull’s-eye. The summer-house was a bare little room, furnished only with a couple of chairs and a small iron table, such as one sees in a tea garden or an open-air cafe.

“Don’t talk,” she said. “We’ve no time. Listen! I know you, Mr. Rassendyll. I wrote that letter at the duke’s orders.”

“So I thought,” said I.

“In twenty minutes three men will be here to kill you.”

“Three—the three?”

“Yes. You must be gone by then. If not, tonight you’ll be killed—”

“Or they will.”

“Listen, listen! When you’re killed, your body will be taken to a low quarter of the town. It will be found there. Michael will at once arrest all your friends—Colonel Sapt and Captain von Tarlenheim first—proclaim a state of siege in Strelsau, and send a messenger to Zenda. The other three will murder the King in the Castle, and the duke will proclaim either himself or the princess—himself, if he is strong enough. Anyhow, he’ll marry her, and become king in fact, and soon in name. Do you see?”

“It’s a pretty plot. But why, madame, do you—?”

“Say I’m a Christian—or say I’m jealous. My God! shall I see him marry her? Now go; but remember—this is what I have to tell you—that never, by night or by day, are you safe. Three men follow you as a guard. Is it not so? Well, three follow them; Michael’s three are never two hundred yards from you. Your life is not worth a moment if ever they find you alone. Now go. Stay, the gate will be guarded by now. Go down softly, go past the summer-house, on for a hundred yards, and you’ll find a ladder against the wall. Get over it, and fly for your life.”

“And you?” I asked.

“I have my game to play too. If he finds out what I have done, we shall not meet again. If not, I may yet—But never mind. Go at once.”

“But what will you tell him?”

“That you never came—that you saw through the trick.”

I took her hand and kissed it.

“Madame,” said I, “you have served the King well tonight. Where is he in the Castle?”

She sank her voice to a fearful whisper. I listened eagerly.

“Across the drawbridge you come to a heavy door; behind that lies—Hark! What’s that?”

There were steps outside.

“They’re coming! They’re too soon! Heavens! they’re too soon!” and she turned pale as death.

“They seem to me,” said I, “to be in the nick of time.”

“Close your lantern. See, there’s a chink in the door. Can you see them?”

I put my eye to the chink. On the lowest step I saw three dim figures. I cocked my revolver. Antoinette hastily laid her hand on mine.

“You may kill one,” said she. “But what then?”

A voice came from outside—a voice that spoke perfect English.

“Mr. Rassendyll,” it said.

I made no answer.

“We want to talk to you. Will you promise not to shoot till we’ve done?”

“Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Detchard?” I said.

“Never mind names.”

“Then let mine alone.”

“All right, sire. I’ve an offer for you.”

I still had my eye to the chink. The three had mounted two steps more; three revolvers pointed full at the door.