Chapter Chapter 11 · WHAT THE CHANCELLOR’S WIFE SAW

. WHAT THE CHANCELLOR’S WIFE SAW

THE night, so precious in its silence, solitude, and darkness, was

waning fast; soon the first dim approaches of day would be visible; soon

the streets would become alive and people be about. Before then Rudolf

Rassendyll, the man who bore a face that he dared not show in open day,

must be under cover; else men would say that the king was in Strelsau,

and the news would flash in a few hours through the kingdom and (so

Rudolf feared) reach even those ears which we knew to be shut to all

earthly sounds. But there was still some time at Mr. Rassendyll’s

disposal, and he could not spend it better than in pursuing his fight

with Bauer. Taking a leaf out of the rascal’s own book, he drew himself

back into the shadow of the house walls and prepared to wait. At the

worst he could keep the fellow from communicating with Rischenheim for

a little longer, but his hope was that Bauer would steal back after

a while and reconnoitre with a view to discovering how matters stood,

whether the unwelcome visitor had taken his departure and the way to

Rischenheim were open. Wrapping his scarf closely round his face, Rudolf

waited, patiently enduring the tedium as he best might, drenched by

the rain, which fell steadily, and very imperfectly sheltered from the

buffeting of the wind. Minutes went by; there were no signs of Bauer

nor of anybody else in the silent street. Yet Rudolf did not venture to

leave his post; Bauer would seize the opportunity to slip in; perhaps

Bauer had seen him come out, and was in his turn waiting till the coast

should be clear; or, again, perhaps the useful spy had gone off

to intercept Rupert of Hentzau, and warn him of the danger in the

Konigstrasse. Ignorant of the truth and compelled to accept all these

chances, Rudolf waited, still watching the distant beginnings of dawning

day, which must soon drive him to his hiding-place again. Meanwhile my

poor wife waited also, a prey to every fear that a woman’s sensitive

mind can imagine and feed upon.

Rudolf turned his head this way and that, seeking always the darker

blot of shadow that would mean a human being. For a while his search was

vain, but presently he found what he looked for--ay, and even more. On

the same side of the street, to his left hand, from the direction of

the station, not one, but three blurred shapes moved up the street.

They came stealthily, yet quickly; with caution, but without pause or

hesitation. Rudolf, scenting danger, flattened himself close against the

wall and felt for his revolver. Very likely they were only early workers

or late revelers, but he was ready for something else; he had not

yet sighted Bauer, and action was to be looked for from the man. By

infinitely gradual sidelong slitherings he moved a few paces from the

door of Mother Holf’s house, and stood six feet perhaps, or eight, on

the right-hand side of it. The three came on. He strained his eyes in

the effort to discern their features. In that dim light certainty was

impossible, but the one in the middle might well be Bauer: the height,

the walk, and the make were much what Bauer’s were. If it were Bauer,

then Bauer had friends, and Bauer and his friends seemed to be stalking

some game. Always most carefully and gradually Rudolf edged yet farther

from the little shop. At a distance of some five yards he halted

finally, drew out his revolver, covered the man whom he took to be

Bauer, and thus waited his fortune and his chance.

Now, it was plain that Bauer--for Bauer it was--would look for one of

two things: what he hoped was to find Rudolf still in the house, what he

feared was to be told that Rudolf, having fulfilled the unknown purpose

of his visit, was gone whole and sound. If the latter tidings met him,

these two good friends of his whom he had enlisted for his reinforcement

were to have five crowns each and go home in peace; if the former, they

were to do their work and make ten crowns. Years after, one of them told

me the whole story without shame or reserve. What their work was, the

heavy bludgeons they carried and the long knife that one of them had

lent to Bauer showed pretty clearly.

But neither to Bauer nor to them did it occur that their quarry might be

crouching near, hunting as well as hunted. Not that the pair of ruffians

who had been thus hired would have hesitated for that thought, as I

imagine. For it is strange, yet certain, that the zenith of courage

and the acme of villainy can alike be bought for the price of a lady’s

glove. Among such outcasts as those from whom Bauer drew his recruits

the murder of a man is held serious only when the police are by, and

death at the hands of him they seek to kill is no more than an every-day

risk of their employment.

“Here’s the house,” whispered Bauer, stopping at the door. “Now, I’ll

knock, and you stand by to knock him on the head if he runs out. He’s

got a six-shooter, so lose no time.”

“He’ll only fire it in heaven,” growled a hoarse, guttural voice that

ended in a chuckle.

“But if he’s gone?” objected the other auxiliary.

“Then I know where he’s gone,” answered Bauer. “Are you ready?”

A ruffian stood on either side of the door with uplifted bludgeon. Bauer

raised his hand to knock.

Rudolf knew that Rischenheim was within, and he feared that Bauer,

hearing that the stranger had gone, would take the opportunity of

telling the count of his visit. The count would, in his turn, warn

Rupert of Hentzau, and the work of catching the ringleader would all

fall to be done again. At no time did Mr. Rassendyll take count of odds

against him, but in this instance he may well have thought himself, with

his revolver, a match for the three ruffians. At any rate, before Bauer

had time to give the signal, he sprang out suddenly from the wall and

darted at the fellow. His onset was so sudden that the other two fell

back a pace; Rudolf caught Bauer fairly by the throat. I do not suppose

that he meant to strangle him, but the anger, long stored in his heart,

found vent in the fierce grip of his fingers. It is certain that

Bauer thought his time was come, unless he struck a blow for himself.

Instantly he raised his hand and thrust fiercely at Rudolf with his long

knife. Mr. Rassendyll would have been a dead man, had he not loosed his

hold and sprung lightly away. But Bauer sprang at him again, thrusting

with the knife, and crying to his associates,

“Club him, you fools, club him!”

Thus exhorted, one jumped forward. The moment for hesitation had gone.

In spite of the noise of wind and pelting rain, the sound of a shot

risked much; but not to fire was death. Rudolf fired full at Bauer: the

fellow saw his intention and tried to leap behind one of his companions;

he was just too late, and fell with a groan to the ground.

Again the other ruffians shrank back, appalled by the sudden ruthless

decision of the act. Mr. Rassendyll laughed. A half smothered yet

uncontrolled oath broke from one of them. “By God!” he whispered

hoarsely, gazing at Rudolf’s face and letting his arm fall to his side.

“My God!” he said then, and his mouth hung open. Again Rudolf laughed at

his terrified stare.

“A bigger job than you fancied, is it?” he asked, pushing his scarf well

away from his chin.

The man gaped at him; the other’s eyes asked wondering questions, but

neither did he attempt to resume the attack. The first at last found

voice, and he said, “Well, it’d be damned cheap at ten crowns, and

that’s the living truth.”

His friend--or confederate rather, for such men have no friends--looked

on, still amazed.

“Take up that fellow by his head and his heels,” ordered Rudolf.

“Quickly! I suppose you don’t want the police to find us here with him,

do you? Well, no more do I. Lift him up.”

As he spoke Rudolf turned to knock at the door of No. 19. But even as he

did so Bauer groaned. Dead perhaps he ought to have been, but it seems

to me that fate is always ready to take the cream and leave the scum.

His leap aside had served him well, after all: he had nearly escaped

scot free. As it was, the bullet, almost missing his head altogether,

had just glanced on his temple as it passed; its impact had stunned, but

not killed. Friend Bauer was in unusual luck that night; I wouldn’t have

taken a hundred to one about his chance of life. Rupert arrested his

hand. It would not do to leave Bauer at the house, if Bauer were likely

to regain speech. He stood for a moment, considering what to do, but in

an instant the thoughts that he tried to gather were scattered again.

“The patrol! the patrol!” hoarsely whispered the fellow who had not yet

spoken. There was a sound of the hoofs of horses. Down the street

from the station end there appeared two mounted men. Without a second

moment’s hesitation the two rascals dropped their friend Bauer with a

thud on the ground; one ran at his full speed across the street, the

other bolted no less quickly up the Konigstrasse. Neither could afford

to meet the constables; and who could say what story this red-haired

gentleman might tell, ay, or what powers he might command?

But, in truth, Rudolf gave no thought to either his story or his powers.

If he were caught, the best he could hope would be to lie in the lockup

while Rupert played his game unmolested. The device that he had employed

against the amazed ruffians could be used against lawful authority only

as a last and desperate resort. While he could run, run he would. In an

instant he also took to his heels, following the fellow who had darted

up the Konigstrasse. But before he had gone very far, coming to a narrow

turning, he shot down it; then he paused for a moment to listen.

The patrol had seen the sudden dispersal of the group, and, struck with

natural suspicion, quickened pace. A few minutes brought them where

Bauer was. They jumped from their horses and ran to him. He was

unconscious, and could, of course, give them no account of how he came

to be in his present state. The fronts of all the houses were dark, the

doors shut; there was nothing to connect the man stretched on the ground

with either No. 19 or any other dwelling. Moreover, the constables were

not sure that the sufferer was himself a meritorious object, for his

hand still held a long, ugly knife. They were perplexed: they were but

two; there was a wounded man to look after; there were three men to

pursue, and the three had fled in three separate directions. They looked

up at No. 19; No. 19 remained dark, quiet, absolutely indifferent. The

fugitives were out of sight. Rudolf Rassendyll, hearing nothing, had

started again on his way. But a minute later he heard a shrill whistle.

The patrol were summoning assistance; the man must be carried to the

station, and a report made; but other constables might be warned of what

had happened, and despatched in pursuit of the culprits. Rudolf heard

more than one answering whistle; he broke into a run, looking for a

turning on the left that would take him back into the direction of my

house, but he found none. The narrow street twisted and curved in the

bewildering way that characterizes the old parts of the town. Rudolf

had spent some time once in Strelsau; but a king learns little of back

streets, and he was soon fairly puzzled as to his whereabouts. Day was

dawning, and he began to meet people here and there. He dared run no

more, even had his breath lasted him; winding the scarf about his face,

and cramming his hat over his forehead again, he fell into an easy walk,

wondering whether he could venture to ask his way, relieved to find no

signs that he was being pursued, trying to persuade himself that Bauer,

though not dead, was at least incapable of embarrassing disclosures;

above all, conscious of the danger of his tell-tale face, and of the

necessity of finding some shelter before the city was all stirring and

awake.

At this moment he heard horses’ hoofs behind him. He was now at the

end of the street, where it opened on the square in which the barracks

stand. He knew his bearings now, and, had he not been interrupted,

could have been back to safe shelter in my house in twenty minutes. But,

looking back, he saw the figure of a mounted constable just coming into

sight behind him. The man seemed to see Rudolf, for he broke into a

quick trot. Mr. Rassendyll’s position was critical; this fact alone

accounts for the dangerous step into which he allowed himself to

be forced. Here he was, a man unable to give account of himself, of

remarkable appearance, and carrying a revolver, of which one barrel was

discharged. And there was Bauer, a wounded man, shot by somebody with

a revolver, a quarter of an hour before. Even to be questioned was

dangerous; to be detained meant ruin to the great business that engaged

his energies. For all he knew, the patrol had actually sighted him as

he ran. His fears were not vain; for the constable raised his voice,

crying, “Hi, sir--you there--stop a minute!”

Resistance was the one thing worse than to yield. Wit, and not force,

must find escape this time. Rudolf stopped, looking round again with a

surprised air. Then he drew himself up with an assumption of dignity,

and waited for the constable. If that last card must be played, he would

win the hand with it.

“Well, what do you want?” he asked coldly, when the man was a few yards

from him; and, as he spoke, he withdrew the scarf almost entirely

from his features, keeping it only over his chin. “You call very

peremptorily,” he continued, staring contemptuously. “What’s your

business with me?”

With a violent start, the sergeant--for such the star on his collar and

the lace on his cuff proclaimed him--leant forward in the saddle to look

at the man whom he had hailed. Rudolf said nothing and did not move.

The man’s eyes studied his face intently. Then he sat bolt upright and

saluted, his face dyed to a deep red in his sudden confusion.

“And why do you salute me now?” asked Rudolf in a mocking tone. “First

you hunt me, then you salute me. By Heaven, I don’t know why you put

yourself out at all about me!”

“I--I--” the fellow stuttered. Then trying a fresh start, he stammered,

“Your Majesty, I didn’t know--I didn’t suppose--”

Rudolf stepped towards him with a quick, decisive tread.

“And why do you call me ‘Your Majesty’?” he asked, still mockingly.

“It--it--isn’t it your Majesty?”

Rudolf was close by him now, his hand on the horse’s neck.

He looked up into the sergeant’s face with steady eyes, saying:

“You make a mistake, my friend. I am not the king.”

“You are not--?” stuttered the bewildered fellow.

“By no means. And, sergeant--?”

“Your Majesty?”

“Sir, you mean.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A zealous officer, sergeant, can make no greater mistake than to

take for the king a gentleman who is not the king. It might injure his

prospects, since the king, not being here, mightn’t wish to have it

supposed that he was here. Do you follow me, sergeant?”

The man said nothing, but stared hard. After a moment Rudolf continued:

“In such a case,” said he, “a discreet officer would not trouble the

gentleman any more, and would be very careful not to mention that he

had made such a silly mistake. Indeed, if questioned, he would answer

without hesitation that he hadn’t seen anybody even like the king, much

less the king himself.”

A doubtful, puzzled little smile spread under the sergeant’s moustache.

“You see, the king is not even in Strelsau,” said Rudolf.

“Not in Strelsau, sir?”

“Why, no, he’s at Zenda.”

“Ah! At Zenda, sir?”

“Certainly. It is therefore impossible--physically impossible--that he

should be here.”

The fellow was convinced that he understood now.

“It’s certainly impossible, sir,” said he, smiling more broadly.

“Absolutely. And therefore impossible also that you should have seen

him.” With this Rudolf took a gold piece from his pocket and handed it

to the sergeant. The fellow took it with something like a wink.

“As for you, you’ve searched here and found nobody,” concluded Mr.

Rassendyll. “So hadn’t you better at once search somewhere else?

“Without doubt, sir,” said the sergeant, and with the most deferential

salute, and another confidential smile, he turned and rode back by the

way he had come. No doubt he wished that he could meet a gentleman who

was--not the king--every morning of his life. It hardly need be said

that all idea of connecting the gentleman with the crime committed in

the Konigstrasse had vanished from his mind. Thus Rudolf won freedom

from the man’s interference, but at a dangerous cost--how dangerous he

did not know. It was indeed most impossible that the king could be in

Strelsau.

He lost no time now in turning his steps towards his refuge. It was past

five o’clock, day came quickly, and the streets began to be peopled

by men and women on their way to open stalls or to buy in the market.

Rudolf crossed the square at a rapid walk, for he was afraid of the

soldiers who were gathering for early duty opposite to the barracks.

Fortunately he passed by them unobserved, and gained the comparative

seclusion of the street in which my house stands, without encountering

any further difficulties. In truth, he was almost in safety; but bad

luck was now to have its turn. When Mr. Rassendyll was no more than

fifty yards from my door, a carriage suddenly drove up and stopped a few

paces in front of him. The footman sprang down and opened the door. Two

ladies got out; they were dressed in evening costume, and were returning

from a ball. One was middle-aged, the other young and rather pretty.

They stood for a moment on the pavement, the younger saying:

“Isn’t it pleasant, mother? I wish I could always be up at five

o’clock.”

“My dear, you wouldn’t like it for long,” answered the elder. “It’s very

nice for a change, but--”

She stopped abruptly. Her eye had fallen on Rudolf Rassendyll. He knew

her: she was no less a person than the wife of Helsing the chancellor;

his was the house at which the carriage had stopped. The trick that had

served with the sergeant of police would not do now. She knew the king

too well to believe that she could be mistaken about him; she was too

much of a busybody to be content to pretend that she was mistaken.

“Good gracious!” she whispered loudly, and, catching her daughter’s arm,

she murmured, “Heavens, my dear, it’s the king!”

Rudolf was caught. Not only the ladies, but their servants were looking

at him.

Flight was impossible. He walked by them. The ladies curtseyed, the

servants bowed bare-headed. Rudolf touched his hat and bowed slightly in

return. He walked straight on towards my house; they were watching him,

and he knew it. Most heartily did he curse the untimely hours to which

folks keep up their dancing, but he thought that a visit to my house

would afford as plausible an excuse for his presence as any other. So

he went on, surveyed by the wondering ladies, and by the servants who,

smothering smiles, asked one another what brought his Majesty abroad in

such a plight (for Rudolf’s clothes were soaked and his boots muddy), at

such an hour--and that in Strelsau, when all the world thought he was at

Zenda.

Rudolf reached my house. Knowing that he was watched he had abandoned

all intention of giving the signal agreed on between my wife and himself

and of making his way in through the window. Such a sight would indeed

have given the excellent Baroness von Helsing matter for gossip! It

was better to let every servant in my house see his open entrance. But,

alas, virtue itself sometimes leads to ruin. My dearest Helga, sleepless

and watchful in the interest of her mistress, was even now behind the

shutter, listening with all her ears and peering through the chinks.

No sooner did Rudolf’s footsteps become audible than she cautiously

unfastened the shutter, opened the window, put her pretty head out, and

called softly: “All’s safe! Come in!”

The mischief was done then, for the faces of Helsing’s wife and

daughter, ay, and the faces of Helsing’s servants, were intent on this

most strange spectacle. Rudolf, turning his head over his shoulder, saw

them; a moment later poor Helga saw them also. Innocent and untrained

in controlling her feelings, she gave a shrill little cry of dismay, and

hastily drew back. Rudolf looked round again. The ladies had retreated

to the cover of the porch, but he still saw their eager faces peering

from between the pillars that supported it.

“I may as well go in now,” said Rudolf, and in he sprang. There was

a merry smile on his face as he ran forward to meet Helga, who leant

against the table, pale and agitated.

“They saw you?” she gasped.

“Undoubtedly,” said he. Then his sense of amusement conquered everything

else, and he sat down in a chair, laughing.

“I’d give my life,” said he, “to hear the story that the chancellor will

be waked up to hear in a minute or two from now!”

But a moment’s thought made him grave again. For whether he were the

king or Rudolf Rassendyll, he knew that my wife’s name was in equal

peril. Knowing this, he stood at nothing to serve her. He turned to her

and spoke quickly.

“You must rouse one of the servants at once. Send him round to the

chancellor’s and tell the chancellor to come here directly. No, write a

note. Say the king has come by appointment to see Fritz on some private

business, but that Fritz has not kept the appointment, and that the king

must now see the chancellor at once. Say there’s not a moment to lose.”

She was looking at him with wondering eyes.

“Don’t you see,” he said, “if I can impose on Helsing, I may stop those

women’s tongues? If nothing’s done, how long do you suppose it’ll be

before all Strelsau knows that Fritz von Tarlenheim’s wife let the king

in at the window at five o’clock in the morning?”

“I don’t understand,” murmured poor Helga in bewilderment.

“No, my dear lady, but for Heaven’s sake do what I ask of you. It’s the

only chance now.”

“I’ll do it,” she said, and sat down to write.

Thus it was that, hard on the marvelous tidings which, as I conjecture,

the Baroness von Helsing poured into her husband’s drowsy ears, came an

imperative summons that the chancellor should wait on the king at the

house of Fritz von Tarlenheim.

Truly we had tempted fate too far by bringing Rudolf Rassendyll again to

Strelsau.