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] 📗
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- Author: Anthony Hope
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She recovered herself in a moment, and curtseyed to me.
“Ah, Mother Holf,” said I, “how long is it since you set up shop in Strelsau?”
“About six months, my lord,” she answered, with a composed air and arms akimbo.
“I have not come across you before,” said I, looking keenly at her.
“Such a poor little shop as mine would not be likely to secure your lordship’s patronage,” she answered, in a humility that seemed only half genuine.
I looked up at the windows. They were all closed and had their wooden lattices shut. The house was devoid of any signs of life.
“You’ve a good house here, mother, though it wants a splash of paint,” said I. “Do you live all alone in it with your daughter?” For Max was dead and Johann abroad, and the old woman had, as far as I knew, no other children.
“Sometimes; sometimes not,” said she. “I let lodgings to single men when I can.”
“Full now?”
“Not a soul, worse luck, my lord.” Then I shot an arrow at a venture.
“The man who came in just now, then, was he only a customer?”
“I wish a customer had come in, but there has been nobody,” she replied in surprised tones.
I looked full in her eyes; she met mine with a blinking imperturbability. There is no face so inscrutable as a clever old woman’s when she is on her guard. And her fat body barred the entrance; I could not so much as see inside, while the window, choked full with pigs’ trotters and such-like dainties, helped me very little. If the fox were there, he had got to earth and I could not dig him out.
At this moment I saw James approaching hurriedly. He was looking up the street, no doubt seeking my carriage and chafing at its delay. An instant later he saw me.
“My lord,” he said, “your train will be ready in five minutes; if it doesn’t start then, the line must be closed for another half-hour.”
I perceived a faint smile on the old woman’s face. I was sure then that I was on the track of Bauer, and probably of more than Bauer. But my first duty was to obey orders and get to Zenda. Besides, I could not force my way in, there in open daylight, without a scandal that would have set all the long ears in Strelsau aprick. I turned away reluctantly. I did not even know for certain that Bauer was within, and thus had no information of value to carry with me.
“If your lordship would kindly recommend me—” said the old hag.
“Yes, I’ll recommend you,” said I. “I’ll recommend you to be careful whom you take for lodgers. There are queer fish about, mother.”
“I take the money beforehand,” she retorted with a grin; and I was as sure that she was in the plot as of my own existence.
There was nothing to be done; James’s face urged me towards the station. I turned away. But at this instant a loud, merry laugh sounded from inside the house. I started, and this time violently. The old woman’s brow contracted in a frown, and her lips twitched for a moment; then her face regained its composure; but I knew the laugh, and she must have guessed that I knew it. Instantly I tried to appear as though I had noticed nothing. I nodded to her carelessly, and bidding James follow me, set out for the station. But as we reached the platform, I laid my hand on his shoulder, saying:
“The Count of Hentzau is in that house, James.”
He looked at me without surprise; he was as hard to stir to wonder as old Sapt himself.
“Indeed, sir. Shall I stay and watch?”
“No, come with me,” I answered. To tell the truth, I thought that to leave him alone in Strelsau to watch that house was in all likelihood to sign his death warrant, and I shrank from imposing the duty on him. Rudolf might send him if he would; I dared not. So we got into our train, and I suppose that my coachman, when he had looked long enough for me, went home. I forgot to ask him afterwards. Very likely he thought it a fine joke to see his master hunting a truant servant and a truant bag through the streets in broad daylight. Had he known the truth, he would have been as interested, though, maybe, less amused.
I arrived at the town of Zenda at half-past three, and was in the castle before four. I may pass over the most kind and gracious words with which the queen received me. Every sight of her face and every sound of her voice bound a man closer to her service, and now she made me feel that I was a poor fellow to have lost her letter and yet to be alive. But she would hear nothing of such talk, choosing rather to praise the little I had done than to blame the great thing in which I had failed. Dismissed from her presence, I flew open-mouthed to Sapt. I found him in his room with Bernenstein, and had the satisfaction of learning that my news of Rupert’s whereabouts was confirmed by his information. I was also made acquainted with all that had been done, even as I have already related it, from the first successful trick played on Rischenheim to the moment of his unfortunate escape. But my face grew long and apprehensive when I heard that Rudolf Rassendyll had gone alone to Strelsau to put his head in that lion’s mouth in the Konigstrasse.
“There will be three of them there—Rupert, Rischenheim, and my rascal Bauer,” said I.
“As to Rupert, we
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