Rupert of Hentzau (Dystopian Novel). Anthony Hope

often on the plans of a clever schemer.

      Going to take leave of the king, I found him huddled over the fire. The day was not cold, but the damp chill of his dungeon seemed to have penetrated to the very core of his bones. He was annoyed at my going, and questioned me peevishly about the business that occasioned my journey. I parried his curiosity as I best could, but did not succeed in appeasing his ill-humor. Half ashamed of his recent outburst, half-anxious to justify it to himself, he cried fretfully:

      “Business! Yes, any business is a good enough excuse for leaving me! By Heaven, I wonder if a king was ever served so badly as I am! Why did you trouble to get me out of Zenda? Nobody wants me, nobody cares whether I live or die.”

      To reason with such a mood was impossible. I could only assure him that I would hasten my return by all possible means.

      “Yes, pray do,” said he. “I want somebody to look after me. Who knows what that villain Rupert may attempt against me? And I can’t defend myself can I? I’m not Rudolf Rassendyll, am I?”

      Thus, with a mixture of plaintiveness and malice, he scolded me. At last I stood silent, waiting till he should be pleased to dismiss me. At any rate I was thankful that he entertained no suspicion as to my errand. Had I spoken a word of Mr. Rassendyll he would not have let me go. He had fallen foul of me before on learning that I was in communication with Rudolf; so completely had jealousy destroyed gratitude in his breast. If he had known what I carried, I do not think that he could have hated his preserver more. Very likely some such feeling was natural enough; it was none the less painful to perceive.

      On leaving the king’s presence, I sought out the Constable of Zenda. He knew my errand; and, sitting down beside him, I told him of the letter I carried, and arranged how to apprise him of my fortune surely and quickly. He was not in a good humor that day: the king had ruffled him also, and Colonel Sapt had no great reserve of patience.

      “If we haven’t cut one another’s throats before then, we shall all be at Zenda by the time you arrive at Wintenberg,” he said. “The court moves there tomorrow, and I shall be there as long as the king is.”

      He paused, and then added: “Destroy the letter if there’s any danger.”

      I nodded my head.

      “And destroy yourself with it, if there’s the only way,” he went on with a surly smile. “Heaven knows why she must send such a silly message at all; but since she must, she’d better have sent me with it.”

      I knew that Sapt was in the way of jeering at all sentiment, and I took no notice of the terms that he applied to the queen’s farewell. I contented myself with answering the last part of what he said.

      “No, it’s better you should be here,” I urged. “For if I should lose the letter — though there’s little chance of it — you could prevent it from coming to the king.”

      “I could try,” he grinned. “But on my life, to run the chance for a letter’s sake! A letter’s a poor thing to risk the peace of a kingdom for.”

      “Unhappily,” said I, “it’s the only thing that a messenger can well carry.”

      “Off with you, then,” grumbled the colonel. “Tell Rassendyll from me that he did well. But tell him to do something more. Let ’em say good-by and have done with it. Good God, is he going to waste all his life thinking of a woman he never sees?” Sapt’s air was full of indignation.

      “What more is he to do?” I asked. “Isn’t his work here done?”

      “Ay, it’s done. Perhaps it’s done,” he answered. “At least he has given us back our good king.”

      To lay on the king the full blame for what he was would have been rank injustice. Sapt was not guilty of it, but his disappointment was bitter that all our efforts had secured no better ruler for Ruritania. Sapt could serve, but he liked his master to be a man.

      “Ay, I’m afraid the lad’s work here is done,” he said, as I shook him by the hand. Then a sudden light came in his eyes. “Perhaps not,” he muttered. “Who knows?”

      A man need not, I hope, be deemed uxorious for liking a quiet dinner alone with his wife before he starts on a long journey. Such, at least, was my fancy; and I was annoyed to find that Helga’s cousin, Anton von Strofzin, had invited himself to share our meal and our farewell. He conversed with his usual airy emptiness on all the topics that were supplying Strelsau with gossip. There were rumors that the king was ill; that the queen was angry at being carried off to Zenda; that the archbishop meant to preach against low dresses; that the chancellor was to be dismissed; that his daughter was to be married; and so forth. I heard without listening. But the last bit of his budget caught my wandering attention.

      “They were betting at the club,” said Anton, “that Rupert of Hentzau would be recalled. Have you heard anything about it, Fritz?”

      If I had known anything, it is needless to say that I should not have confided it to Anton. But the suggested step was so utterly at variance with the king’s intentions that I made no difficulty about contradicting the report with an authoritative air. Anton heard me with a judicial wrinkle on his smooth brow.

      “That’s all very well,” said he, “and I dare say you’re bound to say so. All I know is that Rischenheim dropped a hint to Colonel Markel a day or two ago.”

      “Rischenheim believes what he hopes,” said I.

      “And where’s he gone?” cried Anton, exultantly. “Why has he suddenly left Strelsau? I tell you he’s gone to meet Rupert, and I’ll bet you what you like he carries some proposal. Ah, you don’t know everything, Fritz, my boy?”

      It was indeed true that I did not know everything. I made haste to admit as much. “I didn’t even know that the count was gone, much less why he’s gone,” said I.

      “You see?” exclaimed Anton. And he added, patronizingly, “You should keep your ears open, my boy; then you might be worth what the king pays you.”

      “No less, I trust,” said I, “for he pays me nothing.” Indeed, at this time I held no office save the honorary position of chamberlain to Her Majesty. Any advice the king needed from me was asked and given unofficially.

      Anton went off, persuaded that he had scored a point against me. I could not see where. It was possible that the Count of Luzau–Rischenheim had gone to meet his cousin, equally possible that no such business claimed his care. At any rate, the matter was not for me. I had a more pressing affair in hand. Dismissing the whole thing from my mind, I bade the butler tell Bauer to go forward with my luggage and to let my carriage be at the door in good time. Helga had busied herself, since our guest’s departure, in preparing small comforts for my journey; now she came to me to say good-by. Although she tried to hide all signs of it, I detected an uneasiness in her manner. She did not like these errands of mine, imagining dangers and risks of which I saw no likelihood. I would not give in to her mood, and, as I kissed her, I bade her expect me back in a few days’ time. Not even to her did I speak of the new and more dangerous burden that I carried, although I was aware that she enjoyed a full measure of the queen’s confidence.

      “My love to King Rudolf, the real King Rudolf,” said she. “Though you carry what will make him think little of my love.”

      “I have no desire he should think too much of it, sweet,” said I. She caught me by the hands, and looked up in my face.

      “What a friend you are, aren’t you, Fritz?” said she. “You worship Mr. Rassendyll. I know you think I should worship him too, if he asked me. Well, I shouldn’t. I am foolish enough to have my own idol.” All my modesty did not let me doubt who her idol might be. Suddenly she drew near to me and whispered in my ear. I think that our own happiness brought to her a sudden keen sympathy with her mistress.

      “Make him send her a loving message, Fritz,” she whispered. “Something that will comfort her. Her idol can’t be with her as mine is with me.”

      “Yes, he’ll send