The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope (famous ebook reader .TXT) 📕

gone. Michael’s hand stole towards his sword (said Johann), but not a bit did Rupert care; for he rallied the duke on having made a better king than had reigned for years past in Ruritania. “And,” said he, with a meaning bow to his exasperated master, “the devil sends the princess a finer man than heaven had marked out for her, by my soul, it does!” Then Michael harshly bade him hold his tongue, and leave them; but Rupert must needs first kiss madame’s hand, which he did as though he loved her, while Michael glared at him.

This was the lighter side of the fellow’s news; but more serious came behind, and it was plain that if time pressed at Tarlenheim, it pressed none the less fiercely at Zenda. For the king was very sick; Johann had seen him, and he was wasted and hardly able to move. “There could be no thought of taking another for him now.” So alarmed were they, that they had sent for a physician from Strelsau; and the physician having been introduced into the king’s cell, had come forth pale and trembling, and urgently prayed the duke to let him go back and meddle no more in the affair; but the duke would not, and held him there a prisoner, telling him his life was safe if the king lived while the duke desired and died when the duke desired⁠—not otherwise. And, persuaded by the physician, they had allowed Mme. de Mauban to visit the king and give him such attendance as his state needed, and as only a woman can give. Yet his life hung in the balance; and I was still strong and whole and free. Wherefore great gloom reigned at Zenda; and save when they quarrelled, to which they were very prone, they hardly spoke. But the deeper the depression of the rest, young Rupert went about Satan’s work with a smile in his eye and a song on his lip; and laughed “fit to burst” (said Johann) because the duke always set Detchard to guard the king when Mme. de Mauban was in the cell⁠—which precaution was, indeed, not unwise in my careful brother. Thus Johann told his tale and seized his crowns. Yet he besought us to allow him to stay with us in Tarlenheim, and not venture his head again in the lion’s den; but we had need of him there, and, although I refused to constrain him, I prevailed on him by increased rewards to go back and carry tidings to Mme. de Mauban that I was working for her, and that, if she could, she should speak one word of comfort to the king. For while suspense is bad for the sick, yet despair is worse still, and it might be that the king lay dying of mere hopelessness, for I could learn of no definite disease that afflicted him.

“And how do they guard the king now?” I asked, remembering that two of the Six were dead, and Max Holf also.

“Detchard and Bersonin watch by night, Rupert Hentzau and Gautet by day, sir,” he answered.

“Only two at a time?”

“Aye, sir; but the others rest in a room just above, and are within sound of a cry or a whistle.”

“A room just above? I didn’t know of that. Is there any communication between it and the room where they watch?”

“No, sir. You must go down a few stairs and through the door by the drawbridge, and so to where the king is lodged.”

“And that door is locked?”

“Only the four lords have keys, sir.”

I drew nearer to him.

“And have they keys of the grating?” I asked in a low whisper.

“I think, sir, only Detchard and Rupert.”

“Where does the duke lodge?”

“In the château, on the first floor. His apartments are on the right as you go towards the drawbridge.”

“And Mme. de Mauban?”

“Just opposite, on the left. But her door is locked after she has entered.”

“To keep her in?”

“Doubtless, sir.”

“Perhaps for another reason?”

“It is possible.”

“And the duke, I suppose, has the key?”

“Yes. And the drawbridge is drawn back at night, and of that, too, the duke holds the key, so that it cannot be run across the moat without application to him.”

“And where do you sleep?”

“In the entrance hall of the château, with five servants.”

“Armed?”

“They have pikes, sir, but no firearms. The duke will not trust them with firearms.”

Then at last I took the matter boldly in my hands. I had failed once at Jacob’s ladder; I should fail again there. I must make the attack from the other side.

“I have promised you twenty thousand crowns,” said I. “You shall have fifty thousand if you will do what I ask of you tomorrow night. But, first, do those servants know who your prisoner is?”

“No, sir. They believe him to be some private enemy of the duke’s.”

“And they would not doubt that I am the king?”

“How should they?” he asked.

“Look to this, then. Tomorrow, at two in the morning exactly, fling open the front door of the château. Don’t fail by an instant.”

“Shall you be there, sir?”

“Ask no questions. Do what I tell you. Say the hall is close, or what you will. That is all I ask of you.”

“And may I escape by the door, sir, when I have opened it?”

“Yes, as quick as your legs will carry you. One thing more. Carry this note to madame⁠—oh, it’s in French, you can’t read it⁠—and charge her, for the sake of all our lives, not to fail in what it orders.”

The man was trembling but I had to trust to what he had of courage and to what he had of honesty. I dared not wait, for I feared that the king would die.

When the fellow was gone, I called Sapt and Fritz to me, and unfolded the plan that I had formed. Sapt shook his head over it.

“Why can’t you wait?” he asked.

“The king may die.”

“Michael will be forced to act before that.”

“Then,” said I, “the king may live.”

“Well, and if he does?”

“For a