Rupert of Hentzau: From The Memoirs of Fritz Von Tarlenheim<br />Sequel to The Prisoner of Zenda, Anthony Hope [top 10 most read books in the world TXT] 📗
- Author: Anthony Hope
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In the passage the king stopped.
“What are they doing in there?” he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements.
“I don’t know, sire,” said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward.
“No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you’re pulling me along!”
“A thousand pardons, sire.”
“I hear nothing more now.” And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door.
“Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?” And Bernenstein took another step.
“You’re determined I shall,” said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away.
Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand.
“Till you get to heaven, my lord,” said the constable, “you’ll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I’d have shot you through the head.”
As he spoke there came a knock at the door.
“Open it,” he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver.
“Take it,” whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand.
“Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you,” said the man respectfully.
“Take it,” whispered Sapt again.
“Give it me,” muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope.
The servant bowed and shut the door.
“Open it,” commanded Sapt.
“God’s curse on you!” cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion.
“Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it.”
The count began to open it.
“If you tear it up, or crumple it, I’ll shoot you,” said Sapt quietly. “You know you can trust my word. Now read it.”
“By God, I won’t read it.”
“Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers.”
The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. “Read,” said the constable.
“I don’t understand what it means,” grumbled Rischenheim.
“Possibly I may be able to help you.”
“It’s nothing but—”
“Read, my lord, read!”
Then he read, and this was the telegram: “Holf, 19 Konigstrasse.”
“A thousand thanks, my lord. And—the place it’s despatched from?”
“Strelsau.”
“Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don’t doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It’s as you say. You’re puzzled what it means, Count?”
“I don’t know at all what it means!”
“How strange! Because I can guess so well.”
“You are very acute, sir.”
“It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord.”
“And pray,” said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, “what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?”
“I think, my lord, that the message is an address.”
“An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf.”
“I don’t think it’s Holf’s address.”
“Whose, then?” asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable.
“Why,” said Sapt, “the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau.”
As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count.
“In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count,” said he.
CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN’S SERVANTS
THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting in helplessness on his back, when he was on fire to be afoot. I fear he thought the baker’s rolling-pin was in my mind, but at any rate I extorted a consent from him, and was on my way home from Wintenberg not much more than twelve hours after Rudolf Rassendyll left me. Thus I arrived at my own house in Strelsau on the same Friday morning that witnessed the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim’s two-fold interview with the king at the Castle of Zenda. The moment I had arrived, I sent James, whose assistance had been, and continued to be, in all respects most valuable, to despatch a message to the constable, acquainting him with my whereabouts, and putting myself entirely at his disposal. Sapt received this message while a council of war was being held, and the information it gave aided not a little in the arrangements that the constable and Rudolf Rassendyll made. What these were I must now relate, although, I fear, at the risk of some tediousness.
Yet that council of war in Zenda was held under no common circumstances. Cowed as Rischenheim appeared, they dared not let him out of their sight. Rudolf could not leave the room into which Sapt had locked him; the king’s absence was to be short, and before he came again Rudolf must be gone, Rischenheim safely disposed of, and measures taken against the original letter reaching the hands for which the intercepted copy had been destined. The room was a large one. In the corner farthest from the door sat Rischenheim, disarmed, dispirited, to all seeming ready to throw up his dangerous game and acquiesce in any terms presented to him. Just inside the door, guarding it, if need should be, with their lives, were the other three, Bernenstein merry and triumphant, Sapt blunt and cool, Rudolf calm and clear-headed. The queen awaited the result of their deliberations in her apartments, ready to act as they directed, but determined to see Rudolf
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