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- Author: Anthony Hope
Book online «Rupert of Hentzau: From The Memoirs of Fritz Von Tarlenheim<br />Sequel to The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope (most inspirational books .txt) 📖». Author Anthony Hope
“Well, I’m off,” said Rudolf.
“But where?”
“Why, to that same little station where two good friends parted from me once before. Fritz, where’s Rupert gone?”
“I wish we knew.”
“I lay he won’t be far off.”
“Are you armed?”
“The six-shooter. Well, yes, since you press me, a knife, too; but only if he uses one. You’ll let Sapt know when you come?”
“Yes; and I come the moment I can stand?”
“As if you need tell me that, old fellow!”
“Where do you go from the station?”
“To Zenda, through the forest,” he answered. “I shall reach the station about nine to-morrow night, Thursday. Unless Rischenheim has got the audience sooner than was arranged, I shall be in time.”
“How will you get hold of Sapt?”
“We must leave something to the minute.”
“God bless you, Rudolf.”
“The king sha’n’t have the letter, Fritz.”
There was a moment’s silence as we shook hands. Then that soft yet bright look came in his eyes again. He looked down at me, and caught me regarding him with a smile that I know was not unkind.
“I never thought I should see her again,” he said. “I think I shall now, Fritz. To have a turn with that boy and to see her again—it’s worth something.”
“How will you see her?”
Rudolf laughed, and I laughed too. He caught my hand again. I think that he was anxious to infect me with his gayety and confidence. But I could not answer to the appeal of his eyes. There was a motive in him that found no place in me—a great longing, the prospect or hope of whose sudden fulfilment dwarfed danger and banished despair. He saw that I detected its presence in him and perceived how it filled his mind.
“But the letter comes before all,” said he. “I expected to die without seeing her; I will die without seeing her, if I must, to save the letter.”
“I know you will,” said I.
He pressed my hand again. As he turned away, James came with his noiseless, quick step into the room.
“The carriage is at the door, sir,” said he.
“Look after the count, James,” said Rudolf. “Don’t leave him till he sends you away.”
“Very well, sir.”
I raised myself in bed.
“Here’s luck,” I cried, catching up the lemonade James had brought me, and taking a gulp of it.
“Please God,” said Rudolf, with a shrug.
And he was gone to his work and his reward—to save the queen’s letter and to see the queen’s face. Thus he went a second time to Zenda.
CHAPTER IV. AN EDDY ON THE MOAT
On the evening of Thursday, the sixteenth of October, the Constable of Zenda was very much out of humor; he has since confessed as much. To risk the peace of a palace for the sake of a lover’s greeting had never been wisdom to his mind, and he had been sorely impatient with “that fool Fritz’s” yearly pilgrimage. The letter of farewell had been an added folly, pregnant with chances of disaster. Now disaster, or the danger of it, had come. The curt, mysterious telegram from Wintenberg, which told him so little, at least told him that. It ordered him—and he did not know even whose the order was—to delay Rischenheim’s audience, or, if he could not, to get the king away from Zenda: why he was to act thus was not disclosed to him. But he knew as well as I that Rischenheim was completely in Rupert’s hands, and he could not fail to guess that something had gone wrong at Wintenberg, and that Rischenheim came to tell the king some news that the king must not hear. His task sounded simple, but it was not easy; for he did not know where Rischenheim was, and so could not prevent his coming; besides, the king had been very pleased to learn of the count’s approaching visit, since he desired to talk with him on the subject of a certain breed of dogs, which the count bred with great, his Majesty with only indifferent success; therefore he had declared that nothing should interfere with his reception of Rischenheim. In vain Sapt told him that a large boar had been seen in the forest, and that a fine day’s sport might be expected if he would hunt next day. “I shouldn’t be back in time to see Rischenheim,” said the king.
“Your Majesty would be back by nightfall,” suggested Sapt.
“I should be too tired to talk to him, and I’ve a great deal to discuss.”
“You could sleep at the hunting-lodge, sire, and ride back to receive the count next morning.”
“I’m anxious to see him as soon as may be.” Then he looked up at Sapt with a sick man’s quick suspicion. “Why shouldn’t I see him?” he asked.
“It’s a pity to miss the boar, sire,” was all Sapt’s plea. The king made light of it.
“Curse the boar!” said he. “I want to know how he gets the dogs’ coats so fine.”
As the king spoke a servant entered, carrying a telegram for Sapt. The colonel took it and put it in his pocket.
“Read it,” said the king. He had dined and was about to go to bed, it being nearly ten o’clock.
“It will keep, sire,” answered Sapt, who did not know but that it might be from Wintenberg.
“Read it,” insisted the king testily. “It may be from Rischenheim. Perhaps he can get here sooner. I should like to know about those dogs. Read it, I beg.”
Sapt could do nothing but read it. He had taken to spectacles lately, and he spent a long while adjusting them and thinking what he should do if the message were not fit for the king’s ear. “Be quick, man, be quick!” urged the irritable king.
Sapt had got the envelope open at last, and relief, mingled with perplexity, showed in his face.
“Your Majesty guessed wonderfully well. Rischenheim can be here at eight to-morrow morning,” he said, looking up.
“Capital!” cried the king. “He shall breakfast with
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