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

“I should wrong you by straining your kindness so far,” said he; and in wanton insolence, seeking again to show Mr. Rassendyll the mean esteem in which he held him, and the weariness his presence was, he raised his arms and stretched them above his head, as a man does in the fatigue of tedium. “Heigho!” he yawned.

But he had overshot the mark this time. With a sudden swift bound Rudolf was upon him; his hands gripped Rupert’s wrists, and with his greater strength he bent back the count’s pliant body till trunk and head lay flat on the table. Neither man spoke; their eyes met; each heard the other’s breathing and felt the vapor of it on his face. The girl outside had seen the movement of Rudolf’s figure, but her cranny did not serve her to show her the two where they were now; she knelt on her knees in ignorant suspense. Slowly and with a patient force Rudolf began to work his enemy’s arms towards one another. Rupert had read his design in his eyes and resisted with tense muscles. It seemed as though his arms must crack; but at last they moved. Inch by inch they were driven closer; now the elbows almost touched; now the wrists joined in reluctant contact. The sweat broke out on the count’s brow, and stood in large drops on Rudolf’s. Now the wrists were side by side, and slowly the long sinewy fingers of Rudolf’s right hand, that held one wrist already in their vise, began to creep round the other. The grip seemed to have half numbed Rupert’s arms, and his struggles grew fainter. Round both wrists the sinewy fingers climbed and coiled; gradually and timidly the grasp of the other hand was relaxed and withdrawn. Would the one hold both? With a great spasm of effort Rupert put it to the proof.

The smile that bent Mr. Rassendyll’s lips gave the answer. He could hold both, with one hand he could hold both: not for long, no, but for an instant. And then, in the instant, his left hand, free at last, shot to the breast of the count’s coat. It was the same that he had worn at the hunting-lodge, and was ragged and torn from the boar-hound’s teeth. Rudolf tore it further open, and his hand dashed in.

“God’s curse on you!” snarled Rupert of Hentzau.

But Mr. Rassendyll still smiled. Then he drew out a letter. A glance at it showed him the queen’s seal. As he glanced Rupert made another effort. The one hand, wearied out, gave way, and Mr. Rassendyll had no more than time to spring away, holding his prize. The next moment he had his revolver in his hand—none too soon, for Rupert of Hentzau’s barrel faced him, and they stood thus, opposite to one another, with no more than three or four feet between the mouths of their weapons.

There is, indeed, much that may be said against Rupert of Hentzau, the truth about him well-nigh forbidding that charity of judgment which we are taught to observe towards all men. But neither I nor any man who knew him ever found in him a shrinking from danger or a fear of death. It was no feeling such as these, but rather a cool calculation of chances, that now stayed his hand. Even if he were victorious in the duel, and both did not die, yet the noise of the firearms would greatly decrease his chances of escape. Moreover, he was a noted swordsman, and conceived that he was Mr. Rassendyll’s superior in that exercise. The steel offered him at once a better prospect for victory and more hope of a safe fight. So he did not pull his trigger, but, maintaining his aim the while, said:

“I’m not a street bully, and I don’t excel in a rough-and-tumble. Will you fight now like a gentleman? There’s a pair of blades in the case yonder.”

Mr. Rassendyll, in his turn, was keenly alive to the peril that still hung over the queen. To kill Rupert would not save her if he himself also were shot and left dead, or so helpless that he could not destroy the letter; and while Rupert’s revolver was at his heart he could not tear it up nor reach the fire that burnt on the other side of the room. Nor did he fear the result of a trial with steel, for he had kept himself in practice and improved his skill since the days when he came first to Strelsau.

“As you will,” said he. “Provided we settle the matter here and now, the manner is the same to me.”

“Put your revolver on the table, then, and I’ll lay mine by the side of it.”

“I beg your pardon,” smiled Rudolf, “but you must lay yours down first.”

“I’m to trust you, it seems, but you won’t trust me!”

“Precisely. You know you can trust me; you know that I can’t trust you.”

A sudden flush swept over Rupert of Hentzau’s face. There were moments when he saw, in the mirror of another’s face or words, the estimation in which honorable men held him; and I believe that he hated Mr. Rassendyll most fiercely, not for thwarting his enterprise, but because he had more power than any other man to show him that picture. His brows knit in a frown, and his lips shut tight.

“Ay, but though you won’t fire, you’ll destroy the letter,” he sneered. “I know your fine distinctions.”

“Again I beg your pardon. You know very well that, although all Strelsau were at the door, I wouldn’t touch the letter.”

With an angry muttered oath Rupert flung his revolver on the table. Rudolf came forward and laid his by it. Then he took up both, and, crossing to the mantelpiece, laid them there; between there he placed the queen’s letter. A bright blaze burnt in the grate; it needed but the slightest motion of his hand to set the letter beyond all danger. But he placed it carefully on the mantelpiece, and, with a slight smile on his face, turned to Rupert, saying: “Now shall we resume the bout that Fritz von Tarlenheim interrupted in the forest of Zenda?”

All this while they had been speaking in subdued accents, resolution in one, anger in the other, keeping the voice in an even, deliberate lowness. The girl outside caught only a word here and there; but now suddenly the flash of steel gleamed on her eyes through the crevice of the hinge. She gave a sudden gasp, and, pressing her face closer to the opening, listened and looked. For Rupert of Hentzau had taken the swords from their case and put them on the table. With a slight bow Rudolf took one, and the two assumed their positions. Suddenly Rupert lowered his point. The frown vanished from his face, and he spoke in his usual bantering tone.

“By the way,” said he, “perhaps we’re letting our feelings run away with us. Have you more of a mind now to be King of Ruritania? If so, I’m ready to be the most faithful of your subjects.”

“You honor me, Count.”

“Provided, of course, that I’m one of the most favored and the richest. Come, come, the fool is dead now; he lived like a fool and he died like a fool. The place is empty. A dead man has no rights and suffers no wrongs. Damn it, that’s good law, isn’t it? Take his place and his wife. You can pay my price then. Or are you still so virtuous? Faith, how little some men learn from the world they live in! If I had your chance!”