CHAPTER XIV. THE NEWS COMES TO STRELSAU
ON leaving No. 19, Rischenheim walked swiftly some little way up
the Konigstrasse and then hailed a cab. He had hardly raised his
hand when he heard his name called, and, looking round, saw Anton
von Strofzin's smart phaeton pulling up beside him. Anton was
driving, and on the other seat was a large nosegay of choice
flowers.
"Where are you off to?" cried Anton, leaning forward with a gay
smile.
"Well, where are you? To a lady's, I presume, from your bouquet
there," answered Rischenheim as lightly as he could.
"The little bunch of flowers," simpered young Anton, "is a
cousinly offering to Helga von Tarlenheim, and I'm going to
present it. Can I give you a lift anywhere?"'
Although Rischenheim had intended to go first to the palace,
Anton's offer seemed to give him a good excuse for drawing the
more likely covert first.
"I was going to the palace to find out where the king is. I want
to see him, if he'll give me a minute or two," he remarked.
"I'll drive you there afterwards. Jump up. That your cab? Here
you are, cabman," and flinging the cabman a crown, he displaced
the bouquet and made room for Rischenheim beside him.
Anton's horses, of which he was not a little proud, made short
work of the distance to my home. The phaeton rattled up to the
door and both young men got out. The moment of their arrival
found the chancellor just leaving to return to his own home.
Helsing knew them both, and stopped to rally Anton on the matter
of his bouquet. Anton was famous for his bouquets, which he
distributed widely among the ladies of Strelsau.
"I hoped it was for my daughter," said the chancellor slyly. "For
I love flowers, and my wife has ceased to provide me with them;
moreover, I've ceased to provide her with them, so, but for my
daughter, we should have none."
Anton answered his chaff, promising a bouquet for the young lady
the next day, but declaring that he could not disappoint his
cousin. He was interrupted by Rischenheim, who, looking round on
the group of bystanders, now grown numerous, exclaimed: "What's
going on here, my dear chancellor? What are all these people
hanging about here for? Ah, that's a royal carriage!"
"The queen's with the countess," answered Helsing. "The people
are waiting to see her come out."
"She's always worth seeing," Anton pronounced, sticking his glass
in his eye.
"And you've been to visit her?" pursued Rischenheim.
"Why, yes. I--I went to pay my respects, my dear Rischenheim."
"An early visit!"
"It was more or less on business."
"Ah, I have business also, and very important business. But it's
with the king."
"I won't keep you a moment, Rischenheim," called Anton, as,
bouquet in hand, he knocked at the door.
"With the king?" said Helsing. "Ah, yes, but the king--"
"I'm on my way to the palace to find out where he is. If I can't
see him, I must write at once. My business is very urgent."
"Indeed, my dear count, indeed! Dear me! Urgent, you say?"
"But perhaps you can help me. Is he at Zenda?"
The chancellor was becoming very embarrassed; Anton had
disappeared into the house; Rischenheim buttonholed him
resolutely.
"At Zenda? Well, now, I don't--Excuse me, but what's your
business?"
"Excuse me, my dear chancellor; it's a secret."
"I have the king's confidence."
"Then you'll be indifferent to not enjoying mine," smiled
Rischenheim.
"I perceive that your arm is hurt," observed the chancellor,
seeking a diversion.
"Between ourselves, that has something to do with my business.
Well, I must go to the palace. Or--stay--would her Majesty
condescend to help me? I think I'll risk a request. She can but
refuse," and so saying Rischenheim approached the door.
"Oh, my friend, I wouldn't do that," cried Helsing, darting after
him. "The queen is--well, very much engaged. She won't like to
be troubled."
Rischenheim took no notice of him, but knocked loudly. The door
was opened, and he told the butler to carry his name to the queen
and beg a moment's speech with her. Helsing stood in perplexity
on the step. The crowd was delighted with the coming of these
great folk and showed no sign of dispersing. Anton von Strofzin
did not reappear. Rischenheim edged himself inside the doorway
and stood on the threshold of the hall. There he heard voices
proceeding from the sitting-room on the left. He recognized the
queen's, my wife's, and Anton's. Then came the butler's, saying,
"I will inform the count of your Majesty's wishes."
The door of the room opened; the butler appeared, and immediately
behind him Anton von Strofzin and Bernenstein. Bernenstein had
the young fellow by the arm, and hurried him through the hall.
They passed the butler, who made way for them, and came to where
Rischenheim stood.
"We meet again," said Rischenheim with a bow.
The chancellor rubbed his hands in nervous perturbation. The
butler stepped up and delivered his message: the queen regretted
her inability to receive the count. Rischenheim nodded, and,
standing so that the door could not be shut, asked Bernenstein
whether he knew where the king was.
Now Bernenstein was most anxious to get the pair of them away and
the door shut, but he dared show no eagerness.
"Do you want another interview with the king already?" he asked
with a smile. "The last was so pleasant, then?"
Rischenheim took no notice of the taunt, but observed
sarcastically: "There's a strange difficulty in finding our good
king. The chancellor here doesn't know where he is, or at least
he won't answer my questions."
"Possibly the king has his reasons for not wishing to be
disturbed," suggested Bernenstein.
"It's very possible," retorted Rischenheim significantly.
"Meanwhile, my dear count, I shall take it as a personal favor if
you'll move out of the doorway."
"Do I incommode you by standing here?" answered the count.
"Infinitely, my lord," answered Bernenstein stiffly.
"Hallo, Bernenstein, what's the matter?" cried Anton, seeing that
their tones and glances had grown angry. The crowd also had
noticed the raised voices and hostile manner of the disputants,
and began to gather round in a more compact group.
Suddenly a voice came from inside the hall: it was distinct and
loud, yet not without a touch of huskiness. The sound of it
hushed the rising quarrel and silenced the crowd into expectant
stillness. Bernenstein looked aghast, Rischenheim nervous yet
triumphant, Anton amused and gratified.
"The king!" he cried, and burst into a laugh. "You've drawn him,
Rischenheim!"
The crowd heard his boyish exclamation and raised a cheer.
Helsing turned, as though to rebuke them. Had not the king
himself desired secrecy? Yes, but he who spoke as the king chose
any risk sooner than let Rischenheim go back and warn Rupert of
his presence.
"Is that the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim?" called Rudolf from
within. "If so, let him enter and then shut the door."
There was something in his tone that alarmed Rischenheim. He
started back on the step. But Bernenstein caught him by the arm.
"Since you wish to come in, come in," he said with a grim smile.
Rischenheim looked round, as though he meditated flight. The next
moment Bernenstein was thrust aside. For one short instant a tall
figure appeared in the doorway; the crowd had but a glimpse, yet
they cheered again. Rischenheim's hand was clasped in a firm
grip; he passed unwillingly but helplessly through the door.
Bernenstein followed; the door was shut. Anton faced round on
Helsing, a scornful twist on his lips.
"There was a deuced lot of mystery about nothing," said he. "Why
couldn't you say he was there?" And without waiting for an answer
from the outraged and bewildered chancellor he swung down the
steps and climbed into his phaeton.
The people round were chatting noisily, delighted to have caught
a glimpse of the king, speculating what brought him and the queen
to my house, and hoping that they would soon come out and get
into the royal carriage that still stood waiting.
Had they been able to see inside the door, their emotion would
have been stirred to a keener pitch. Rudolf himself caught
Rischenheim by the arm, and without a moment's delay led him
towards the back of the house. They went along a passage and
reached a small room that looked out on the garden. Rudolf had
known my house in old days, and did not forget its resources.
"Shut the door, Bernenstein," said Rudolf. Then he turned to
Rischenheim. "My lord," he said, "I suppose you came to find out
something. Do you know it now?"
Rischenheim plucked up courage to answer him.
"Yes, I know now that I have to deal with an impostor," said he
defiantly.
"Precisely. And impostors can't afford to be exposed."
Rischenheim's cheek turned rather pale. Rudolf faced him, and
Bernenstein guarded the door. He was absolutely at their mercy;
and he knew their secret. Did they know his--the news that Rupert
of Hentzau had brought?
"Listen," said Rudolf. "For a few hours to-day I am king in
Strelsau. In those few hours I have an account to settle with
your cousin: something that he has, I must have. I'm going now to
seek him, and while I seek him you will stay here with
Bernenstein. Perhaps I shall fail, perhaps I shall succeed.
Whether I succeed or fail, by to-night I shall be far from
Strelsau, and the king's place will be free for him again."
Rischenheim gave a slight start, and a look of triumph spread
over his face. They did not know that the king was dead.
Rudolf came nearer to him, fixing his eyes steadily on his
prisoner's face.
"I don't know," he continued, "why you are in this business, my
lord. Your cousin's motives I know well. But I wonder that they
seemed to you great enough to justify the ruin of an unhappy lady
who is your queen. Be assured that I will die sooner than let
that letter reach the king's hand."
Rischenheim made him no answer.
"Are you armed?" asked Rudolf.
Rischenheim sullenly flung his revolver on the table. Bernenstein
came forward and took it.
"Keep him here, Bernenstein. When I return I'll tell you what
more to do. If I don't return, Fritz will be here soon, and you
and he must make your own plans."
"He sha'n't give me the slip a second time," said Bernenstein.
"We hold ourselves free," said Rudolf to Rischenheim, "to do what
we please with you, my lord. But I have no wish to cause your
death, unless it be necessary. You will be wise to wait till your
cousin's fate is decided before you attempt any further steps
against us." And with a slight bow he left the prisoner in
Bernenstein's charge, and went back to the room where the queen
awaited him. Helga was with her. The queen sprang up to meet him.
"I mustn't lose a moment," he said. "All that crowd of people
know now that the king is here. The news will filter through the
town in no time. We must send word to Sapt to keep it from the
king's ears at all costs: I must go and do my work, and then
disappear."
The queen stood facing him. Her eyes seemed to devour his face;
but she said only: "Yes, it must be so."
"You must return to the palace as soon as I am gone. I shall send
out and ask the people to disperse, and then I must be off."
"To seek Rupert of Hentzau?"
"Yes."
She struggled for a moment with the contending feelings that
filled her heart. Then she came to him and seized hold of his
hand.
"Don't go," she said in low trembling tones. "Don't go, Rudolf.
He'll kill you. Never mind the letter. Don't go: I had rather a
thousand times that the king had it than that you should .... Oh,
my dear, don't go!"
"I must go," he said softly.
Again she began to implore him, but he would not yield. Helga
moved towards the door, but Rudolf stopped her.
"No," he said; "you must stay with her; you must go to the palace
with her."
Even as he spoke they heard the wheels of a carriage driven
quickly to the door. By now I had met Anton von Strofzin and
heard from him that the king was at my house. As I dashed up the
news was confirmed by the comments and jokes of the crowd.
"Ah, he's in a hurry," they said. "He's kept the king waiting.
He'll get a wigging."
As may be supposed, I paid little heed to them. I sprang out and
ran up the steps to the door. I saw my wife's face at the window:
she herself ran to the door and opened it for me.
"Good God," I whispered, "do all these people know he's here, and
take him for the king?"
"Yes," she said. "We couldn't help it. He showed himself at the
door."
It was worse than I dreamt: not two or three people, but all that
crowd were victims of the mistake; all of them had heard that the
king was in Strelsau--ay, and had seen him.
"Where is he? Where is he?" I asked, and followed her hastily to
the room.
The queen and Rudolf were standing side by side. What I have told
from Helga's description had just passed between them. Rudolf ran
to meet me.
"Is all well?" he asked eagerly.
I forgot the queen's presence and paid no sign of respect to her.
I caught Rudolf by the arm and cried to him: "Do they take you
for the king?"
"Yes," he said. "Heavens, man, don't look so white! We shall
manage it. I can be gone by to-night."
"Gone? How will that help, since they believe you to be the
king?"
"You can keep it from the king," he urged. "I couldn't help it. I
can settle with Rupert and disappear."
The three were standing round me, surprised at my great and
terrible agitation. Looking back now, I wonder that I could speak
to them at all.
Rudolf tried again to reassure me. He little knew the cause of
what he saw.
"It won't take long to settle affairs with Rupert," said he. "And
we must have the letter, or it will get to the king after all."
"The king will never see the letter," I blurted out, as I sank
back in a chair.
They said nothing. I looked round on their faces. I had a strange
feeling of helplessness, and seemed to be able to do nothing but
throw the truth at them in blunt plainness. Let them make what
they could of it, I could make nothing.
"The king will never see the letter," I repeated. "Rupert himself
has insured that."
"What do you mean? You've not met Rupert? You've not got the
letter?"
"No, no; but the king can never read it."
Then Rudolf seized me by the shoulder and fairly shook me; indeed
I must have seemed like a man in a dream or a torpor.
"Why not, man; why not?" he asked in urgent low tones. Again I
looked at them, but somehow this time my eyes were attracted and
held by the queen's face. I believe that she was the first to
catch a hint of the tidings I brought. Her lips were parted, and
her gaze eagerly strained upon me. I rubbed my hand across my
forehead, and, looking up stupidly at her, I said:
"He never can see the letter. He's dead."
There was a little scream from Helga; Rudolf neither spoke nor
moved; the queen continued to gaze at me in motionless wonder and
horror.
"Rupert killed him," said I. "The boar-hound attacked Rupert;
then Herbert and the king attacked him; and he killed them all.
Yes, the king is dead. He's dead."
Now none spoke. The queen's eyes never left my face. "Yes, he's
dead." said I; and I watched her eyes still. For a long while (or
long it seemed) they were on my face; at last, as though drawn by
some irresistible force, they turned away. I followed the new
line they took. She looked at Rudolf Rassendyll, and he at her.
Helga had taken out her handkerchief, and, utterly upset by the
horror and shock, was lying back in a low chair, sobbing
half-hysterically; I saw the swift look that passed from the
queen to her lover, carrying in it grief, remorse, and most
unwilling joy. He did not speak to her, but put out his hand and
took hers. She drew it away almost sharply, and covered her face
with both hands.
Rudolf turned to me. "When was it?"
"Last night."
"And the .... He's at the lodge?"
"Yes, with Sapt and James."
I was recovering my senses and my coolness.
"Nobody knows yet," I said. "We were afraid you might be taken
for him by somebody. But, my God, Rudolf, what's to be done now?"
Mr. Rassendyll's lips were set firm and tight. He frowned
slightly, and his blue eyes wore a curious entranced expression.
He seemed to me to be forgetful of everything, even of us who
were with him, in some one idea that possessed him. The queen
herself came nearer to him and lightly touched his arm with her
hand. He started as though surprised, then fell again into his
reverie.
"What's to be done, Rudolf?" I asked again.
"I'm going to kill Rupert of Hentzau," he said. "The rest we'll
talk of afterwards."
He walked rapidly across the room and rang the bell. "Clear those
people away," he ordered. "Tell them that I want to be quiet.
Then send a closed carriage round for me. Don't be more than ten
minutes."
The servant received his peremptory orders with a low bow, and
left us. The queen, who had been all this time outwardly calm and
composed, now fell into a great agitation, which even the
consciousness of our presence could not enable her to hide.
"Rudolf, must you go? Since--since this has happened--"
"Hush, my dearest lady," he whispered. Then he went on more
loudly, "I won't quit Ruritania a second time leaving Rupert of
Hentzau alive. Fritz, send word to Sapt that the king is in
Strelsau--he will understand--and that instructions from the king
will follow by midday. When I have killed Rupert, I shall visit
the lodge on my way to the frontier."
He turned to go, but the queen, following, detained him for a
minute.
"You'll come and see me before you go?" she pleaded.
"But I ought not," said he, his resolute eyes suddenly softening
in a marvelous fashion.
"You will?"
"Yes, my queen."
Then I sprang up, for a sudden dread laid hold on me.
"Heavens, man," I cried, "what if he kills you--there in the
Konigstrasse?"
Rudolf turned to me; there was a look of surprise on his face.
"He won't kill me," he answered.
The queen, looking still in Rudolf's face, and forgetful now, as
it seemed, of the dream that had so terrified her, took no notice
of what I said, but urged again: "You'll come, Rudolf?"
"Yes, once, my queen," and with a last kiss of her hand he was
gone.
The queen stood for yet another moment where she was, still and
almost rigid. Then suddenly she walked or stumbled to where my
wife sat, and, flinging herself on her knees, hid her face in
Helga's lap; I heard her sobs break out fast and tumultuously.
Helga looked up at me, the tears streaming down her cheeks. I
turned and went out. Perhaps Helga could comfort her; I prayed
that God in His pity might send her comfort, although she for her
sin's sake dared not ask it of Him. Poor soul! I hope there may
be nothing worse scored to my account.
