Rupert of Hentzau: From The Memoirs of Fritz Von Tarlenheim<br />Sequel to The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope (most inspirational books .txt) 📖

“God help us!” she muttered in fear and bewilderment.

“He helps us, never fear,” said Rudolf Rassendyll. “Where is Count Rupert?”

The girl had caught alarm from her mother’s agitation. “He’s upstairs in the attic at the top of the house, sir,” she whispered in frightened tones, with a glance that fled from her mother’s terrified face to Rudolf’s set eyes and steady smile.

What she said was enough for him. He slipped by the old woman and began to mount the stairs.

The two watched him, Mother Holf as though fascinated, the girl alarmed but still triumphant: she had done what the king bade her. Rudolf turned the corner of the first landing and disappeared from their sight. The old woman, swearing and muttering, stumbled back into her kitchen, set her stew on the fire, and began to stir it, her eyes set on the flames and careless of the pot. The girl watched her mother for a moment, wondering how she could think of the stew, not guessing that she turned the spoon without a thought of what she did; then she began to crawl, quickly but noiselessly, up the staircase in the track of Rudolf Rassendyll. She looked back once: the old woman stirred with a monotonous circular movement of her fat arm. Rosa, bent half-double, skimmed upstairs, till she came in sight of the king whom she was so proud to serve. He was on the top landing now, outside the door of a large attic where Rupert of Hentzau was lodged. She saw him lay his hand on the latch of the door; his other hand rested in the pocket of his coat. From the room no sound came; Rupert may have heard the step outside and stood motionless to listen. Rudolf opened the door and walked in. The girl darted breathlessly up the remaining steps, and, coming to the door, just as it swung back on the latch, crouched down by it, listening to what passed within, catching glimpses of forms and movements through the chinks of the crazy hinge and the crevices where the wood of the panel sprung and left a narrow eye hole for her absorbed gazing.

Rupert of Hentzau had no thought of ghosts; the men he killed lay still where they fell, and slept where they were buried. And he had no wonder at the sight of Rudolf Rassendyll. It told him no more than that Rischenheim’s errand had fallen out ill, at which he was not surprised, and that his old enemy was again in his path, at which (as I verily believe) he was more glad than sorry. As Rudolf entered, he had been half-way between window and table; he came forward to the table now, and stood leaning the points of two fingers on the unpolished dirty-white deal.

“Ah, the play-actor!” said he, with a gleam of his teeth and a toss of his curls, while his second hand, like Mr. Rassendyll’s, rested in the pocket of his coat.

Mr. Rassendyll himself has confessed that in old days it went against the grain with him when Rupert called him a play-actor. He was a little older now, and his temper more difficult to stir.

“Yes, the play-actor,” he answered, smiling. “With a shorter part this time, though.”

“What part to-day? Isn’t it the old one, the king with a pasteboard crown?” asked Rupert, sitting down on the table. “Faith, we shall do handsomely in Ruritania: you have a pasteboard crown, and I (humble man though I am) have given the other one a heavenly crown. What a brave show! But perhaps I tell you news?”

“No, I know what you’ve done.”

“I take no credit. It was more the dog’s doing than mine,” said Rupert carelessly. “However, there it is, and dead he is, and there’s an end of it. What’s your business, play-actor?”

At the repetition of this last word, to her so mysterious, the girl outside pressed her eyes more eagerly to the chink and strained her ears to listen more sedulously. And what did the count mean by the “other one” and “a heavenly crown”?

“Why not call me king?” asked Rudolf.

“They call you that in Strelsau?”

“Those that know I’m here.”

“And they are—?”

“Some few score.”

“And thus,” said Rupert, waving an arm towards the window, “the town is quiet and the flags fly?”

“You’ve been waiting to see them lowered?”

“A man likes to have some notice taken of what he has done,” Rupert complained. “However, I can get them lowered when I will.”

“By telling your news? Would that be good for yourself?”

“Forgive me—not that way. Since the king has two lives, it is but in nature that he should have two deaths.”

“And when he has undergone the second?”

“I shall live at peace, my friend, on a certain source of income that I possess.” He tapped his breast-pocket with a slight, defiant laugh. “In these days,” said he, “even queens must be careful about their letters. We live in moral times.”

“You don’t share the responsibility for it,” said Rudolf, smiling.

“I make my little protest. But what’s your business, play-actor? For I think you’re rather tiresome.”

Rudolf grew grave. He advanced towards the table, and spoke in low, serious tones.

“My lord, you’re alone in this matter now. Rischenheim is a prisoner; your rogue Bauer I encountered last night and broke his head.”

“Ah, you did?”

“You have what you know of in your hands. If you yield, on my honor I will save your life.”

“You don’t desire my blood, then, most forgiving play-actor?”

“So much, that I daren’t fail to offer you life,” answered Rudolf Rassendyll. “Come, sir, your plan has failed: give up the letter.”

Rupert looked at him thoughtfully.

“You’ll see me safe off if I give it you?” he asked.

“I’ll prevent your death. Yes, and I’ll see you safe.”

“Where to?”

“To a fortress, where a trustworthy gentleman will guard you.”

“For how long, my dear friend?”

“I hope for many years, my dear Count.”

“In fact, I suppose, as long as—?”

“Heaven leaves you to the world, Count. It’s impossible to set you free.”

“That’s the offer, then?”

“The extreme limit of indulgence,” answered Rudolf. Rupert burst into a laugh, half of defiance, yet touched with the ring of true amusement. Then he lit