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

“Your Majesty’s ordinance as to duelling is receiving our best attention,” he assured me.

If the best attention involved his presence in Zenda, I determined at once to dispense with it.

“Is that what brings you to Zenda, Prefect?” I asked.

“Why no, sire; I am here because I desired to oblige the British Ambassador.”

“What’s the British Ambassador doing dans cette galere?” said I, carelessly.

“A young countryman of his, sire—a man of some position—is missing. His friends have not heard from him for two months, and there is reason to believe that he was last seen in Zenda.”

Flavia was paying little attention. I dared not look at Sapt.

“What reason?”

“A friend of his in Paris—a certain M. Featherly—has given us information which makes it possible that he came here, and the officials of the railway recollect his name on some luggage.”

“What was his name?”

“Rassendyll, sire,” he answered; and I saw that the name meant nothing to him. But, glancing at Flavia, he lowered his voice, as he went on: “It is thought that he may have followed a lady here. Has your Majesty heard of a certain Madame de Mauban?”

“Why, yes,” said I, my eye involuntarily travelling towards the Castle.

“She arrived in Ruritania about the same time as this Rassendyll.”

I caught the Prefect’s glance; he was regarding me with enquiry writ large on his face.

“Sapt,” said I, “I must speak a word to the Prefect. Will you ride on a few paces with the princess?” And I added to the Prefect: “Come, sir, what do you mean?”

He drew close to me, and I bent in the saddle.

“If he were in love with the lady?” he whispered. “Nothing has been heard of him for two months;” and this time it was the eye of the Prefect which travelled towards the Castle.

“Yes, the lady is there,” I said quietly. “But I don’t suppose Mr. Rassendyll—is that the name?—is.”

“The duke,” he whispered, “does not like rivals, sire.”

“You’re right there,” said I, with all sincerity. “But surely you hint at a very grave charge?”

He spread his hands out in apology. I whispered in his ear:

“This is a grave matter. Go back to Strelsau—”

“But, sire, if I have a clue here?”

“Go back to Strelsau,” I repeated. “Tell the Ambassador that you have a clue, but that you must be left alone for a week or two. Meanwhile, I’ll charge myself with looking into the matter.”

“The Ambassador is very pressing, sir.”

“You must quiet him. Come, sir; you see that if your suspicions are correct, it is an affair in which we must move with caution. We can have no scandal. Mind you return tonight.”

He promised to obey me, and I rode on to rejoin my companions, a little easier in my mind. Enquiries after me must be stopped at all hazards for a week or two; and this clever official had come surprisingly near the truth. His impression might be useful some day, but if he acted on it now it might mean the worse to the King. Heartily did I curse George Featherly for not holding his tongue.

“Well,” asked Flavia, “have you finished your business?”

“Most satisfactorily,” said I. “Come, shall we turn round? We are almost trenching on my brother’s territory.”

We were, in fact, at the extreme end of the town, just where the hills begin to mount towards the Castle. We cast our eyes up, admiring the massive beauty of the old walls, and we saw a cortege winding slowly down the hill. On it came.

“Let us go back,” said Sapt.

“I should like to stay,” said Flavia; and I reined my horse beside hers.

We could distinguish the approaching party now. There came first two mounted servants in black uniforms, relieved only by a silver badge. These were followed by a car drawn by four horses: on it, under a heavy pall, lay a coffin; behind it rode a man in plain black clothes, carrying his hat in his hand. Sapt uncovered, and we stood waiting, Flavia keeping by me and laying her hand on my arm.

“It is one of the gentlemen killed in the quarrel, I expect,” she said.

I beckoned to a groom.

“Ride and ask whom they escort,” I ordered.

He rode up to the servants, and I saw him pass on to the gentleman who rode behind.

“It’s Rupert of Hentzau,” whispered Sapt.

Rupert it was, and directly afterwards, waving to the procession to stand still, Rupert trotted up to me. He was in a frock-coat, tightly buttoned, and trousers. He wore an aspect of sadness, and he bowed with profound respect. Yet suddenly he smiled, and I smiled too, for old Sapt’s hand lay in his left breast-pocket, and Rupert and I both guessed what lay in the hand inside the pocket.

“Your Majesty asks whom we escort,” said Rupert. “It is my dear friend, Albert of Lauengram.”

“Sir,” said I, “no one regrets the unfortunate affair more than I. My ordinance, which I mean to have obeyed, is witness to it.”

“Poor fellow!” said Flavia softly, and I saw Rupert’s eyes flash at her. Whereat I grew red; for, if I had my way, Rupert Hentzau should not have defiled her by so much as a glance. Yet he did it and dared to let admiration be seen in his look.

“Your Majesty’s words are gracious,” he said. “I grieve for my friend. Yet, sire, others must soon lie as he lies now.”

“It is a thing we all do well to remember, my lord,” I rejoined.

“Even kings, sire,” said Rupert, in a moralizing tone; and old Sapt swore softly by my side.

“It is true,” said I. “How fares my brother, my lord?”

“He is better, sire.”

“I am rejoiced.”

“He hopes soon to leave for Strelsau, when his health is secured.”

“He is only convalescent then?”

“There remain one or two small troubles,” answered the insolent fellow, in the mildest tone in the world.

“Express my earnest hope,” said Flavia, “that they may soon cease to trouble him.”