Kabanata Kabanata 10 · THE KING IN STRELSAU

,

while neither he nor Queen Flavia knew that the king was dead. I must

now relate the strange and perverse succession of events which forced

them to employ a resource so dangerous and face a peril so immense. Yet,

great and perilous as they knew the risk to be even when they dared

it, in the light of what they did not know it was more fearful and more

fatal still.

Chapter 10. THE KING IN STRELSAU

MR. RASSENDYLL reached Strelsau from Zenda without accident about nine

o’clock in the evening of the same day as that which witnessed the

tragedy of the hunting-lodge. He could have arrived sooner, but prudence

did not allow him to enter the populous suburbs of the town till the

darkness guarded him from notice. The gates of the city were no longer

shut at sunset, as they had used to be in the days when Duke Michael

was governor, and Rudolf passed them without difficulty. Fortunately the

night, fine where we were, was wet and stormy at Strelsau; thus there

were few people in the streets, and he was able to gain the door of my

house still unremarked. Here, of course, a danger presented itself.

None of my servants were in the secret; only my wife, in whom the queen

herself had confided, knew Rudolf, and she did not expect to see him,

since she was ignorant of the recent course of events. Rudolf was quite

alive to the peril, and regretted the absence of his faithful attendant,

who could have cleared the way for him. The pouring rain gave him an

excuse for twisting a scarf about his face and pulling his coat-collar

up to his ears, while the gusts of wind made the cramming of his hat low

down over his eyes no more than a natural precaution against its loss.

Thus masked from curious eyes, he drew rein before my door, and, having

dismounted, rang the bell. When the butler came a strange hoarse voice,

half-stifled by folds of scarf, asked for the countess, alleging for

pretext a message from myself. The man hesitated, as well he might, to

leave the stranger alone with the door open and the contents of the hall

at his mercy. Murmuring an apology in case his visitor should prove to

be a gentleman, he shut the door and went in search of his mistress. His

description of the untimely caller at once roused my wife’s quick wit;

she had heard from me how Rudolf had ridden once from Strelsau to the

hunting-lodge with muffled face; a very tall man with his face wrapped

in a scarf and his hat over his eyes, who came with a private message,

suggested to her at least a possibility of Mr. Rassendyll’s arrival.

Helga will never admit that she is clever, yet I find she discovers from

me what she wants to know, and I suspect hides successfully the small

matters of which she in her wifely discretion deems I had best remain

ignorant. Being able thus to manage me, she was equal to coping with the

butler. She laid aside her embroidery most composedly.

“Ah, yes,” she said, “I know the gentleman. Surely you haven’t left him

out in the rain?” She was anxious lest Rudolf’s features should have

been exposed too long to the light of the hall-lamps.

The butler stammered an apology, explaining his fears for our goods and

the impossibility of distinguishing social rank on a dark night. Helga

cut him short with an impatient gesture, crying, “How stupid of you!”

and herself ran quickly down and opened the door--a little way only,

though. The first sight of Mr. Rassendyll confirmed her suspicions; in a

moment, she said, she knew his eyes.

“It is you, then?” she cried. “And my foolish servant has left you in

the rain! Pray come in. Oh, but your horse!” She turned to the penitent

butler, who had followed her downstairs. “Take the baron’s horse round

to the stables,” she said.

“I will send some one at once, my lady.”

“No, no, take it yourself--take it at once. I’ll look after the baron.”

Reluctantly and ruefully the fat fellow stepped out into the storm.

Rudolf drew back and let him pass, then he entered quickly, to find

himself alone with Helga in the hall. With a finger on her lips, she led

him swiftly into a small sitting-room on the ground floor, which I used

as a sort of office or place of business. It looked out on the street,

and the rain could be heard driving against the broad panes of the

window. Rudolf turned to her with a smile, and, bowing, kissed her hand.

“The baron what, my dear countess?” he inquired.

“He won’t ask,” said she with a shrug. “Do tell me what brings you here,

and what has happened.”

He told her very briefly all he knew. She hid bravely her alarm at

hearing that I might perhaps meet Rupert at the lodge, and at once

listened to what Rudolf wanted of her.

“Can I get out of the house, and, if need be, back again unnoticed?” he

asked.

“The door is locked at night, and only Fritz and the butler have keys.”

Mr. Rassendyll’s eye traveled to the window of the room.

“I haven’t grown so fat that I can’t get through there,” said he. “So

we’d better not trouble the butler. He’d talk, you know.”

“I will sit here all night and keep everybody from the room.”

“I may come back pursued if I bungle my work and an alarm is raised.”

“Your work?” she asked, shrinking back a little.

“Yes,” said he. “Don’t ask what it is, Countess. It is in the queen’s

service.”

“For the queen I will do anything and everything, as Fritz would.”

He took her hand and pressed it in a friendly, encouraging way.

“Then I may issue my orders?” he asked, smiling.

“They shall be obeyed.”

“Then a dry cloak, a little supper, and this room to myself, except for

you.”

As he spoke the butler turned the handle of the door. My wife flew

across the room, opened the door, and, while Rudolf turned his back,

directed the man to bring some cold meat, or whatever could be ready

with as little delay as possible.

“Now come with me,” she said to Rudolf, directly the servant was gone.

She took him to my dressing-room, where he got dry clothes; then she saw

the supper laid, ordered a bedroom to be prepared, told the butler that

she had business with the baron and that he need not sit up if she were

later than eleven, dismissed him, and went to tell Rudolf that the

coast was clear for his return to the sitting-room. He came, expressing

admiration for her courage and address; I take leave to think that

she deserved his compliments. He made a hasty supper; then they talked

together, Rudolf smoking his cigar. Eleven came and went. It was not

yet time. My wife opened the door and looked out. The hall was dark, the

door locked and its key in the hands of the butler. She closed the door

again and softly locked it. As the clock struck twelve Rudolf rose and

turned the lamp very low. Then he unfastened the shutters noiselessly,

raised the window and looked out.

“Shut them again when I’m gone,” he whispered. “If I come back, I’ll

knock like this, and you’ll open for me.”

“For heaven’s sake, be careful,” she murmured, catching at his hand.

He nodded reassuringly, and crossing his leg over the windowsill, sat

there for a moment listening. The storm was as fierce as ever, and the

street was deserted. He let himself down on to the pavement, his face

again wrapped up. She watched his tall figure stride quickly along

till a turn of the road hid it. Then, having closed the window and the

shutters again, she sat down to keep her watch, praying for him, for me,

and for her dear mistress the queen. For she knew that perilous work

was afoot that night, and did not know whom it might threaten or whom

destroy.

From the moment that Mr. Rassendyll thus left my house at midnight on

his search for Rupert of Hentzau, every hour and almost every moment

brought its incident in the swiftly moving drama which decided the

issues of our fortune. What we were doing has been told; by now Rupert

himself was on his way back to the city, and the queen was meditating,

in her restless vigil, on the resolve that in a few hours was to bring

her also to Strelsau. Even in the dead of night both sides were active.

For, plan cautiously and skillfully as he might, Rudolf fought with an

antagonist who lost no chances, and who had found an apt and useful tool

in that same Bauer, a rascal, and a cunning rascal, if ever one were

bred in the world. From the beginning even to the end our error lay in

taking too little count of this fellow, and dear was the price we paid.

Both to my wife and to Rudolf himself the street had seemed empty of

every living being when she watched and he set out. Yet everything had

been seen, from his first arrival to the moment when she closed the

window after him. At either end of my house there runs out a projection,

formed by the bay windows of the principal drawing-room and of the

dining room respectively. These projecting walls form shadows, and in

the shade of one of them--of which I do not know, nor is it of moment--a

man watched all that passed; had he been anywhere else, Rudolf must have

seen him. If we had not been too engrossed in playing our own hands,

it would doubtless have struck us as probable that Rupert would direct

Rischenheim and Bauer to keep an eye on my house during his absence;

for it was there that any of us who found our way to the city would

naturally resort in the first instance. As a fact, he had not omitted

this precaution. The night was so dark that the spy, who had seen

the king but once and never Mr. Rassendyll, did not recognize who the

visitor was, but he rightly conceived that he should serve his employer

by tracking the steps of the tall man who made so mysterious an arrival

and so surreptitious a departure from the suspected house. Accordingly,

as Rudolf turned the corner and Helga closed the window, a short,

thickset figure started cautiously out of the projecting shadow, and

followed in Rudolf’s wake through the storm. The pair, tracker and

tracked, met nobody, save here and there a police constable keeping

a most unwilling beat. Even such were few, and for the most part more

intent on sheltering in the lee of a friendly wall and thereby keeping a

dry stitch or two on them than on taking note of passers-by. On the pair

went. Now Rudolf turned into the Konigstrasse. As he did so, Bauer, who

must have been nearly a hundred yards behind (for he could not start

till the shutters were closed) quickened his pace and reduced the

interval between them to about seventy yards. This he might well have

thought a safe distance on a night so wild, when the rush of wind and

the pelt of the rain joined to hide the sound of footsteps.

But Bauer reasoned as a townsman, and Rudolf Rassendyll had the quick

ear of a man bred in the country and trained to the woodland. All at

once there was a jerk of his head; I know so well the motion which

marked awakened attention in him. He did not pause nor break his stride:

to do either would have been to betray his suspicions to his follower;

but he crossed the road to the opposite side to that where No. 19 was

situated, and slackened his pace a little, so that there was a longer

interval between his own footfalls. The steps behind him grew slower,

even as his did; their sound came no nearer: the follower would not

overtake. Now, a man who loiters on such a night, just because another

ahead of him is fool enough to loiter, has a reason for his action other

than what can at first sight be detected. So thought Rudolf Rassendyll,

and his brain was busied with finding it out.

Then an idea seized him, and, forgetting the precautions that had

hitherto served so well, he came to a sudden stop on the pavement,

engrossed in deep thought. Was the man who dogged his steps Rupert

himself? It would be like Rupert to track him, like Rupert to conceive

such an attack, like Rupert to be ready either for a fearless assault

from the front or a shameless shot from behind, and indifferent utterly

which chance offered, so it threw him one of them. Mr. Rassendyll asked

no better than to meet his enemy thus in the open. They could fight a

fair fight, and if he fell the lamp would be caught up and carried on by

Sapt’s hand or mine; if he got the better of Rupert, the letter would

be his; a moment would destroy it and give safety to the queen. I do not

suppose that he spent time in thinking how he should escape arrest at

the hands of the police whom the fracas would probably rouse; if he did,

he may well have reckoned on declaring plainly who he was, of laughing

at their surprise over a chance likeness to the king, and of trusting to

us to smuggle him beyond the arm of the law. What mattered all that, so

that there was a moment in which to destroy the letter? At any rate he

turned full round and began to walk straight towards Bauer, his hand

resting on the revolver in the pocket of his coat.

Bauer saw him coming, and must have known that he was suspected or

detected. At once the cunning fellow slouched his head between his

shoulders, and set out along the street at a quick shuffle, whistling as

he went. Rudolf stood still now in the middle of the road, wondering

who the man was: whether Rupert, purposely disguising his gait, or

a confederate, or, after all, some person innocent of our secret

and indifferent to our schemes. On came Bauer, softly, whistling and

slushing his feet carelessly through the liquid mud. Now he was nearly

opposite where Mr. Rassendyll stood. Rudolf was well-nigh convinced that

the man had been on his track: he would make certainty surer. The bold

game was always his choice and his delight; this trait he shared

with Rupert of Hentzau, and hence arose, I think, the strange secret

inclination he had for his unscrupulous opponent. Now he walked suddenly

across to Bauer, and spoke to him in his natural voice, at the same time

removing the scarf partly, but not altogether, from his face.

“You’re out late, my friend, for a night like this.”

Bauer, startled though he was by the unexpected challenge, had his wits

about him. Whether he identified Rudolf at once, I do not know; I think

that he must at least have suspected the truth.

“A lad that has no home to go to must needs be out both late and early,

sir,” said he, arresting his shuffling steps, and looking up with that

honest stolid air which had made a fool of me.

I had described him very minutely to Mr. Rassendyll; if Bauer knew or

guessed who his challenger was, Mr. Rassendyll was as well equipped for

the encounter.

“No home to go to!” cried Rudolf in a pitying tone. “How’s that? But

anyhow, Heaven forbid that you or any man should walk the streets a

night like this. Come, I’ll give you a bed. Come with me, and I’ll find

you good shelter, my boy.”

Bauer shrank away. He did not see the meaning of this stroke, and

his eye, traveling up the street, showed that his thoughts had turned

towards flight. Rudolf gave no time for putting any such notion into

effect. Maintaining his air of genial compassion, he passed his left arm

through Bauer’s right, saying:

“I’m a Christian man, and a bed you shall have this night, my lad, as

sure as I’m alive. Come along with me. The devil, it’s not weather for

standing still!”

The carrying of arms in Strelsau was forbidden. Bauer had no wish to get

into trouble with the police, and, moreover, he had intended nothing

but a reconnaissance; he was therefore without any weapon, and he was a

child in Rudolf’s grasp. He had no alternative but to obey the

suasion of Mr. Rassendyll’s arm, and they two began to walk down the

Konigstrasse. Bauer’s whistle had died away, not to return; but from

time to time Rudolf hummed softly a cheerful tune, his fingers beating

time on Bauer’s captive arm. Presently they crossed the road. Bauer’s

lagging steps indicated that he took no pleasure in the change of side,

but he could not resist.

“Ay, you shall go where I am going, my lad,” said Rudolf encouragingly;

and he laughed a little as he looked down at the fellow’s face.

Along they went; soon they came to the small numbers at the station end

of the Konigstrasse. Rudolf began to peer up at the shop fronts.

“It’s cursed dark,” said he. “Pray, lad, can you make out which is

nineteen?”

The moment he had spoken the smile broadened on his face. The shot had

gone home. Bauer was a clever scoundrel, but his nerves were not under

perfect control, and his arm had quivered under Rudolf’s.

“Nineteen, sir?” he stammered.

“Ay, nineteen. That’s where we’re bound for, you and I. There I hope we

shall find--what we want.”

Bauer seemed bewildered: no doubt he was at a loss how either to

understand or to parry the bold attack.

“Ah, this looks like it,” said Rudolf, in a tone of great satisfaction,

as they came to old Mother Holf’s little shop. “Isn’t that a one and

a nine over the door, my lad? Ah, and Holf! Yes, that’s the name. Pray

ring the bell. My hands are occupied.”

Rudolf’s hands were indeed occupied; one held Bauer’s arm, now no longer

with a friendly pressure, but with a grip of iron; in the other the

captive saw the revolver that had till now lain hidden.

“You see?” asked Rudolf pleasantly. “You must ring for me, mustn’t you?

It would startle them if I roused them with a shot.” A motion of the

barrel told Bauer the direction which the shot would take.

“There’s no bell,” said Bauer sullenly.

“Ah, then you knock?”

“I suppose so.”

“In any particular way, my friend?”

“I don’t know,” growled Bauer.

“Nor I. Can’t you guess?”

“No, I know nothing of it.”

“Well, we must try. You knock, and--Listen, my lad. You must guess

right. You understand?”

“How can I guess?” asked Bauer, in an attempt at bluster.

“Indeed, I don’t know,” smiled Rudolf. “But I hate waiting, and if the

door is not open in two minutes, I shall arouse the good folk with a

shot. You see? You quite see, don’t you?” Again the barrel’s motion

pointed and explained Mr. Rassendyll’s meaning.

Under this powerful persuasion Bauer yielded. He lifted his hand and

knocked on the door with his knuckles, first loudly, then very softly,

the gentler stroke being repeated five times in rapid succession.

Clearly he was expected, for without any sound of approaching feet the

chain was unfastened with a subdued rattle. Then came the noise of the

bolt being cautiously worked back into its socket. As it shot home a

chink of the door opened. At the same moment Rudolf’s hand slipped from

Bauer’s arm. With a swift movement he caught the fellow by the nape of

the neck and flung him violently forward into the roadway, where, losing

his footing, he fell sprawling face downwards in the mud. Rudolf threw

himself against the door: it yielded, he was inside, and in an instant

he had shut the door and driven the bolt home again, leaving Bauer in

the gutter outside. Then he turned, with his hand on the butt of his

revolver. I know that he hoped to find Rupert of Hentzau’s face within a

foot of his.

Neither Rupert nor Rischenheim, nor even the old woman fronted him: a

tall, handsome, dark girl faced him, holding an oil-lamp in her hand.

He did not know her, but I could have told him that she was old Mother

Holf’s youngest child, Rosa, for I had often seen her as I rode through

the town of Zenda with the king, before the old lady moved her dwelling

to Strelsau. Indeed the girl had seemed to haunt the king’s foot-steps,

and he had himself joked on her obvious efforts to attract his

attention, and the languishing glances of her great black eyes. But it

is the lot of prominent personages to inspire these strange passions,

and the king had spent as little thought on her as on any of the

romantic girls who found a naughty delight in half-fanciful devotion to

him--devotion starting, in many cases, by an irony of which the king

was happily unconscious, from the brave figure that he made at his

coronation and his picturesque daring in the affair of Black Michael.

The worshipers never came near enough to perceive the alteration in

their idol.

The half then, at least, of Rosa’s attachment was justly due to the man

who now stood opposite to her, looking at her with surprise by the murky

light of the strong-smelling oil-lamp. The lamp shook and almost fell

from her hand when she saw him; for the scarf had slid away, and his

features were exposed to full view. Fright, delight, and excitement vied

with one another in her eyes.

“The king!” she whispered in amazement. “No, but--” And she searched his

face wonderingly.

“Is it the beard you miss?” asked Rudolf, fingering his chin. “Mayn’t

kings shave when they please, as well as other men?” Her face still

expressed bewilderment, and still a lingering doubt. He bent towards

her, whispering:

“Perhaps I wasn’t over-anxious to be known at once.”

She flushed with pleasure at the confidence he seemed to put in her.

“I should know you anywhere,” she whispered, with a glance of the great

black eyes. “Anywhere, your Majesty.”

“Then you’ll help me, perhaps?”

“With my life.”

“No, no, my dear young lady, merely with a little information. Whose

home is this?”

“My mother’s.”

“Ah! She takes lodgers?”

The girl appeared vexed at his cautious approaches. “Tell me what you

want to know,” she said simply.

“Then who’s here?”

“My lord the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim.”

“And what’s he doing?”

“He’s lying on the bed moaning and swearing, because his wounded arm

gives him pain.”

“And is nobody else here?”

She looked round warily, and sank her voice to a whisper as she

answered:

“No, not now--nobody else.”

“I was seeking a friend of mine,” said Rudolf. “I want to see him alone.

It’s not easy for a king to see people alone.”

“You mean--?”

“Well, you know whom I mean.”

“Yes. No, he’s gone; but he’s gone to find you.”

“To find me! Plague take it! How do you know that, my pretty lady?”

“Bauer told me.”

“Ah, Bauer! And who’s Bauer?”

“The man who knocked. Why did you shut him out?”

“To be alone with you, to be sure. So Bauer tells you his master’s

secrets?”

She acknowledged his raillery with a coquettish laugh. It was not amiss

for the king to see that she had her admirers.

“Well, and where has this foolish count gone to meet me?” asked Rudolf

lightly.

“You haven’t seen him?”

“No; I came straight from the Castle of Zenda.”

“But,” she cried, “he expected to find you at the hunting lodge. Ah, but

now I recollect! The Count of Rischenheim was greatly vexed to find, on

his return, that his cousin was gone.”

“Ah, he was gone! Now I see! Rischenheim brought a message from me to

Count Rupert.”

“And they missed one another, your Majesty?”

“Exactly, my dear young lady. Very vexatious it is, upon my word!” In

this remark, at least, Rudolf spoke no more and no other than he felt.

“But when do you expect the Count of Hentzau?” he pursued.

“Early in the morning, your Majesty--at seven or eight.”

Rudolf came nearer to her, and took a couple of gold coins from his

pocket.

“I don’t want money, your Majesty,” she murmured.

“Oh, make a hole in them and hang them round your neck.”

“Ah, yes: yes, give them to me,” she cried, holding out her hand

eagerly.

“You’ll earn them?” he asked, playfully holding them out of her reach.

“How?”

“By being ready to open to me when I come at eleven and knock as Bauer

knocked.”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

“And by telling nobody that I’ve been here to-night. Will you promise me

that?”

“Not my mother?”

“No.”

“Nor the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim?”

“Him least of all. You must tell nobody. My business is very private,

and Rischenheim doesn’t know it.”

“I’ll do all you tell me. But--but Bauer knows.”

“True,” said Rudolf. “Bauer knows. Well, we’ll see about Bauer.”

As he spoke he turned towards the door. Suddenly the girl bent, snatched

at his hand and kissed it.

“I would die for you,” she murmured.

“Poor child!” said he gently. I believe he was loath to make profit,

even in the queen’s service, of her poor foolish love. He laid his hand

on the door, but paused a moment to say:

“If Bauer comes, you have told me nothing. Mind, nothing! I threatened

you, but you told me nothing.”

“He’ll tell them you have been here.”

“That can’t be helped; at least they won’t know when I shall arrive

again. Good-night.”

Rudolf opened the door and slipped through, closing it hastily behind

him. If Bauer got back to the house, his visit must be known; but if

he could intercept Bauer, the girl’s silence was assured. He stood just

outside, listening intently and searching the darkness with eager eyes.