The Prisoner of Zenda. Anthony Hope

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       CHAPTER 6

       The Secret of a Cellar

      We were in the King’s dressing-room—Fritz von Tarlenheim, Sapt, and I. I flung myself exhausted into an armchair. Sapt lit his pipe. He uttered no congratulations on the marvellous success of our wild risk, but his whole bearing was eloquent of satisfaction. The triumph, aided perhaps by good wine, had made a new man of Fritz.

      “What a day for you to remember!” he cried. “Gad, I’d like to be King for twelve hours myself! But, Rassendyll, you mustn’t throw your heart too much into the part. I don’t wonder Black Michael looked blacker than ever—you and the princess had so much to say to one another.”

      “How beautiful she is!” I exclaimed.

      “Never mind the woman,” growled Sapt. “Are you ready to start?”

      “Yes,” said I, with a sigh.

      It was five o’clock, and at twelve I should be no more than Rudolf Rassendyll. I remarked on it in a joking tone.

      “You’ll be lucky,” observed Sapt grimly, “if you’re not the late Rudolf Rassendyll. By Heaven! I feel my head wobbling on my shoulders every minute you’re in the city. Do you know, friend, that Michael has had news from Zenda? He went into a room alone to read it—and he came out looking like a man dazed.”

      “I’m ready,” said I, this news making me none the more eager to linger.

      Sapt sat down.

      “I must write us an order to leave the city. Michael’s Governor, you know, and we must be prepared for hindrances. You must sign the order.”

      “My dear colonel, I’ve not been bred a forger!”

      Out of his pocket Sapt produced a piece of paper.

      “There’s the King’s signature,” he said, “and here,” he went on, after another search in his pocket, “is some tracing paper. If you can’t manage a ‘Rudolf’ in ten minutes, why—I can.”

      “Your education has been more comprehensive than mine,” said I. “You write it.”

      And a very tolerable forgery did this versatile hero produce.

      “Now, Fritz,” said he, “the King goes to bed. He is upset. No one is to see him till nine o’clock tomorrow. You understand—no one?”

      “I understand,” answered Fritz.

      “Michael may come, and claim immediate audience. You’ll answer that only princes of the blood are entitled to it.”

      “That’ll annoy Michael,” laughed Fritz.

      “You quite understand?” asked Sapt again. “If the door of this room is opened while we’re away, you’re not to be alive to tell us about it.”

      “I need no schooling, colonel,” said Fritz, a trifle haughtily.

      “Here, wrap yourself in this big cloak,” Sapt continued to me, “and put on this flat cap. My orderly rides with me to the hunting-lodge tonight.”

      “There’s an obstacle,” I observed. “The horse doesn’t live that can carry me forty miles.”

      “Oh, yes, he does—two of him: one here—one at the lodge. Now, are you ready?”

      “I’m ready,” said I.

      Fritz held out his hand.

      “In case,” said he; and we shook hands heartily.

      “Damn your sentiment!” growled Sapt. “Come along.”

      He went, not to the door, but to a panel in the wall.

      “In the old King’s time,” said he, “I knew this way well.”

      I followed him, and we walked, as I should estimate, near two hundred yards along a narrow passage. Then we came to a stout oak door. Sapt unlocked it. We passed through, and found ourselves in a quiet street that ran along the back of the Palace gardens. A man was waiting for us with two horses. One was a magnificent bay, up to any weight; the other a sturdy brown. Sapt signed to me to mount the bay. Without a word to the man, we mounted and rode away. The town was full of noise and merriment, but we took secluded ways. My cloak was wrapped over half my face; the capacious flat cap hid every lock of my tell-tale hair. By Sapt’s directions, I crouched on my saddle, and rode with such a round back as I hope never to exhibit on a horse again. Down a long narrow lane we went, meeting some wanderers and some roisterers; and, as we rode, we heard the Cathedral bells still clanging out their welcome to the King. It was half-past six, and still light. At last we came to the city wall and to a gate.

      “Have your weapon ready,” whispered Sapt. “We must stop his mouth, if he talks.”

      I put my hand on my revolver. Sapt hailed the doorkeeper. The stars fought for us! A little girl of fourteen tripped out.

      “Please, sir, father’s gone to see the King.”

      “He’d better have stayed here,” said Sapt to me, grinning.

      “But he said I wasn’t СКАЧАТЬ