CHAPTER VIII. THE TEMPER OF BORIS THE HOUND
Looking back now, in the light of the information I have gathered, I amable to trace very clearly, and almost hour by hour, the events of thisday, and to understand how chance, laying hold of our cunning plan andmocking our wiliness, twisted and turned our device to a predeterminedbut undreamt-of issue, of which we were most guiltless in thought orintent. Had the king not gone to the hunting-lodge, our design wouldhave found the fulfilment we looked for; had Rischenheim succeeded inwarning Rupert of Hentzau, we should have stood where we were. Fateor fortune would have it otherwise. The king, being weary, went to thelodge, and Rischenheim failed in warning his cousin. It was a narrowfailure, for Rupert, as his laugh told me, was in the house in theKonigstrasse when I set out from Strelsau, and Rischenheim arrived thereat half past four. He had taken the train at a roadside station, andthus easily outstripped Mr. Rassendyll, who, not daring to show hisface, was forced to ride all the way and enter the city under cover ofnight. But Rischenheim had not dared to send a warning, for he knewthat we were in possession of the address and did not know what stepswe might have taken to intercept messages. Therefore he was obliged tocarry the news himself; when he came his man was gone. Indeed Rupertmust have left the house almost immediately after I was safe away fromthe city. He was determined to be in good time for his appointment;his only enemies were not in Strelsau; there was no warrant on which hecould be apprehended; and, although his connection with Black Michaelwas a matter of popular gossip, he felt himself safe from arrest byvirtue of the secret that protected him. Accordingly he walked outof the house, went to the station, took his ticket to Hofbau, and,traveling by the four o'clock train, reached his destination abouthalf-past five. He must have passed the train in which Rischenheimtraveled; the first news the latter had of his departure was from aporter at the station, who, having recognized the Count of Hentzau,ventured to congratulate Rischenheim on his cousin's return. Rischenheimmade no answer, but hurried in great agitation to the house in theKonigstrasse, where the old woman Holf confirmed the tidings. Then hepassed through a period of great irresolution. Loyalty to Rupert urgedthat he should follow him and share the perils into which his cousin washastening. But caution whispered that he was not irrevocably committed,that nothing overt yet connected him with Rupert's schemes, and that wewho knew the truth should be well content to purchase his silence as tothe trick we had played by granting him immunity. His fears won the day,and, like the irresolute man he was, he determined to wait in Strelsautill he heard the issue of the meeting at the lodge. If Rupert weredisposed of there, he had something to offer us in return for peace; ifhis cousin escaped, he would be in the Konigstrasse, prepared to secondthe further plans of the desperate adventurer. In any event his skin wassafe, and I presume to think that this weighed a little with him; forexcuse he had the wound which Bernenstein had given him, and whichrendered his right arm entirely useless; had he gone then, he would havebeen a most inefficient ally.
Of all this we, as we rode through the forest, knew nothing. We mightguess, conjecture, hope, or fear; but our certain knowledge stopped withRischenheim's start for the capital and Rupert's presence there at threeo'clock. The pair might have met or might have missed. We had to actas though they had missed and Rupert were gone to meet the king. But wewere late. The consciousness of that pressed upon us, although we evadedfurther mention of it; it made us spur and drive our horses as quickly,ay, and a little more quickly, than safety allowed. Once James's horsestumbled in the darkness and its rider was thrown; more than once a lowbough hanging over the path nearly swept me, dead or stunned, from myseat. Sapt paid no attention to these mishaps or threatened mishaps. Hehad taken the lead, and, sitting well down in his saddle, rode ahead,turning neither to right nor left, never slackening his pace, sparingneither himself nor his beast. James and I were side by side behind him.We rode in silence, finding nothing to say to one another. My mind wasfull of a picture--the picture of Rupert with his easy smile handing tothe king the queen's letter. For the hour of the rendezvous was past.If that image had been translated into reality, what must we do? To killRupert would satisfy revenge, but of what other avail would it be whenthe king had read the letter? I am ashamed to say that I found myselfgirding at Mr. Rassendyll for happening on a plan which the courseof events had turned into a trap for ourselves and not for Rupert ofHentzau.
Suddenly Sapt, turning his head for the first time, pointed in frontof him. The lodge was before us; we saw it looming dimly a quarter ofa mile off. Sapt reined in his horse, and we followed his example. Alldismounted, we tied our horses to trees and went forward at a quick,silent walk. Our idea was that Sapt should enter on pretext of havingbeen sent by the queen to attend to her husband's comfort and arrangefor his return without further fatigue next day. If Rupert had come andgone, the king's demeanor would probably betray the fact; if he had notyet come, I and James, patrolling outside, would bar his passage. Therewas a third possibility; he might be even now with the king. Our coursein such a case we left unsettled; so far as I had any plan, it was tokill Rupert and to convince the king that the letter was a forgery--adesperate hope, so desperate that we turned our eyes away from thepossibility which would make it our only resource.
We were now very near the hunting-lodge, being about forty yards fromthe front of it. All at once Sapt threw himself on his stomach on theground.
"Give me a match," he whispered.
James struck a light, and, the night being still, the flame burntbrightly: it showed us the mark of a horse's hoof, apparently quitefresh, and leading away from the lodge. We rose and went on, followingthe tracks by the aid of more matches till we reached a tree twentyyards from the door. Here the hoof marks ceased; but beyond there wasa double track of human feet in the soft black earth; a man had gonethence to the house and returned from the house thither. On the right ofthe tree were more hoof-marks, leading up to it and then ceasing. A manhad ridden up from the right, dismounted, gone on foot to the house,returned to the tree, remounted, and ridden away along the track bywhich we had approached.
"It may be somebody else," said I; but I do not think that we any ofus doubted in our hearts that the tracks were made by the coming ofHentzau. Then the king had the letter; the mischief was done. We weretoo late.
Yet we did not hesitate. Since disaster had come, it must be faced. Mr.Rassendyll's servant and I followed the constable of Zenda up tothe door, or within a few feet of it. Here Sapt, who was in uniform,loosened his sword in its sheath; James and I looked to our revolvers.There were no lights visible in the lodge; the door was shut; everythingwas still. Sapt knocked softly with his knuckles, but there was noanswer from within. He laid hold of the handle and turned it; the dooropened, and the passage lay dark and apparently empty before us.
"You stay here, as we arranged," whispered the colonel. "Give me thematches, and I'll go in."
James handed him the box of matches, and he crossed the threshold. For ayard or two we saw him plainly, then his figure grew dim and indistinct.I heard nothing except my own hard breathing. But in a moment there wasanother sound--a muffled exclamation, and a noise of a man stumbling;a sword, too, clattered on the stones of the passage. We looked at oneanother; the noise did not produce any answering stir in the house; thencame the sharp little explosion of a match struck on its box; next weheard Sapt raising himself, his scabbard scraping along the stones; hisfootsteps came towards us, and in a second he appeared at the door.
"What was it?" I whispered.
"I fell," said Sapt.
"Over what?"
"Come and see. James, stay here."
I followed the constable for the distance of eight or ten feet along thepassage.
"Isn't there a lamp anywhere?" I asked.
"We can see enough with a match," he answered. "Here, this is what Ifell over."
Even before the match was struck I saw a dark body lying across thepassage.
"A dead man?" I guessed instantly.
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p; "Why, no," said Sapt, striking a light: "a dead dog, Fritz." Anexclamation of wonder escaped me as I fell on my knees. At the sameinstant Sapt muttered, "Ay, there's a lamp," and, stretching up his handto a little oil lamp that stood on a bracket, he lit it, took it down,and held it over the body. It served to give a fair, though unsteady,light, and enabled us to see what lay in the passage.
"It's Boris, the boar-hound," said I, still in a whisper, although therewas no sign of any listeners.
I knew the dog well; he was the king's favorite, and always accompaniedhim when he went hunting. He was obedient to every word of the king's,but of a rather uncertain temper towards the rest of the world. However,de mortuis nil nisi bonum; there he lay dead in the passage. Sapt puthis hand on the beast's head. There was a bullet-hole right through hisforehead. I nodded, and in my turn pointed to the dog's right shoulder,which was shattered by another ball.
"And see here," said the constable. "Have a pull at this."
I looked where his hand now was. In the dog's mouth was a piece of graycloth, and on the piece of gray cloth was a horn coat-button. I tookhold of the cloth and pulled. Boris held on even in death. Sapt drew hissword, and, inserting the point of it between the dog's teeth, partedthem enough for me to draw out the piece of cloth.
"You'd better put it in your pocket," said the constable. "Now comealong;" and, holding the lamp in one hand and his sword (which he didnot resheathe) in the other, he stepped over the body of the boar-hound,and I followed him.
We were now in front of the door of the room where Rudolf Rassendyll hadsupped with us on the day of his first coming to Ruritania, and whencehe had set out to be crowned in Strelsau. On the right of it was theroom where the king slept, and farther along in the same direction thekitchen and the cellars. The officer or officers in attendance on theking used to sleep on the other side of the dining-room.
"We must explore, I suppose," said Sapt. In spite of his outwardcalmness, I caught in his voice the ring of excitement rising andill-repressed. But at this moment we heard from the passage on our left(as we faced the door) a low moan, and then a dragging sound, as if aman were crawling along the floor, painfully trailing his limbs afterhim. Sapt held the lamp in that direction, and we saw Herbert theforester, pale-faced and wide-eyed, raised from the ground on his twohands, while his legs stretched behind him and his stomach rested on theflags.
"Who is it?" he said in a faint voice.
"Why, man, you know us," said the constable, stepping up to him. "What'shappened here?"
The poor fellow was very faint, and, I think, wandered a little in hisbrain.
"I've got it, sir," he murmured; "I've got it, fair and straight. Nomore hunting for me, sir. I've got it here in the stomach. Oh, my God!"He let his head fall with a thud on the floor.
I ran and raised him. Kneeling on one knee, I propped his head againstmy leg.
"Tell us about it," commanded Sapt in a curt, crisp voice while I gotthe man into the easiest position that I could contrive.
In slow, struggling tones he began his story, repeating here, omittingthere, often confusing the order of his narrative, oftener stillarresting it while he waited for fresh strength. Yet we were notimpatient, but heard without a thought of time. I looked round once ata sound, and found that James, anxious about us, had stolen along thepassage and joined us. Sapt took no notice of him, nor of anything savethe words that dropped in irregular utterance from the stricken man'slips. Here is the story, a strange instance of the turning of a greatevent on a small cause.
The king had eaten a little supper, and, having gone to his bedroom,had stretched himself on the bed and fallen asleep without undressing.Herbert was clearing the dining-table and performing similar duties,when suddenly (thus he told it) he found a man standing beside him.He did not know (he was new to the king's service) who the unexpectedvisitor was, but he was of middle height, dark, handsome, and "looked agentleman all over." He was dressed in a shooting-tunic, and a revolverwas thrust through the belt of it. One hand rested on the belt, whilethe other held a small square box.
"Tell the king I am here. He expects me," said the stranger. Herbert,alarmed at the suddenness and silence of the stranger's approach, andguiltily conscious of having left the door unbolted, drew back. He wasunarmed, but, being a stout fellow, was prepared to defend his masteras best he could. Rupert--beyond doubt it was Rupert--laughed lightly,saying again, "Man, he expects me. Go and tell him," and sat himself onthe table, swinging his leg. Herbert, influenced by the visitor's air ofcommand, began to retreat towards the bedroom, keeping his face towardsRupert.
"If the king asks more, tell him I have the packet and the letter," saidRupert. The man bowed and passed into the bedroom. The king was asleep;when roused he seemed to know nothing of letter or packet, and toexpect no visitor. Herbert's ready fears revived; he whispered that thestranger carried a revolver. Whatever the king's faults might be--andGod forbid that I should speak hardly of him whom fate used sohardly--he was no coward. He sprang from his bed; at the same momentthe great boar-hound uncoiled himself and came from beneath, yawning andfawning. But in an instant the beast caught the scent of a stranger: hisears pricked and he gave a low growl, as he looked up in his master'sface. Then Rupert of Hentzau, weary perhaps of waiting, perhaps onlydoubtful whether his message would be properly delivered, appeared inthe doorway.
The king was unarmed, and Herbert in no better plight; their huntingweapons were in the adjoining room, and Rupert seemed to bar the way.I have said that the king was no coward, yet I think, that the sight ofRupert, bringing back the memory of his torments in the dungeon, halfcowed him; for he shrank back crying, "You!" The hound, in subtleunderstanding of his master's movement, growled angrily.
"You expected me, sire?" said Rupert with a bow; but he smiled. I knowthat the sight of the king's alarm pleased him. To inspire terror washis delight, and it does not come to every man to strike fear into theheart of a king and an Elphberg. It had come more than once to Rupert ofHentzau.
"No," muttered the king. Then, recovering his composure a little, hesaid angrily, "How dare you come here?"
"You didn't expect me?" cried Rupert, and in an instant the thought of atrap seemed to flash across his alert mind. He drew the revolver halfwayfrom his belt, probably in a scarcely conscious movement, born of thedesire to assure himself of its presence. With a cry of alarm Herbertflung himself before the king, who sank back on the bed. Rupert,puzzled, vexed, yet half-amused (for he smiled still, the man said),took a step forward, crying out something about Rischenheim--what,Herbert could not tell us.
"Keep back," exclaimed the king. "Keep back."
Rupert paused; then, as though with a sudden thought, he held up the boxthat was in his left hand, saying:
'"Well, look at this sire, and we'll talk afterwards," and he stretchedout his hand with the box in it.
Now the king stood on a razor's edge, for the king whispered to Herbert,"What is it? Go and take it."
But Herbert hesitated, fearing to leave the king, whom his body nowprotected as though with a shield. Rupert's impatience overcame him:if there were a trap, every moment's delay doubled his danger. With ascornful laugh he exclaimed, "Catch it, then, if you're afraid to comefor it," and he flung the packet to Herbert or the king, or which ofthem might chance to catch it.
This insolence had a strange result. In an instant, with a fierce growland a mighty bound, Boris was at the stranger's throat. Rupert had notseen or had not heeded the dog. A startled oath rang out from him. Hesnatched the revolver from his belt and fired at his assailant. Thisshot must have broken the beast's shoulder, but it only half arrestedhis spring. His great weight was still hurled on Rupert's chest, andbore him back on his knee. The packet that he had flung lay unheeded.The king, wild with alarm and furious with anger at his favorite's fate,jumped up and ran past Rupert into the next room. Herbert followed;even as they went Rupert flung the wounded, weakened beast from himand darted to the doorway. He found himself facing Herbert, who
helda boar-spear, and the king, who had a double-barreled hunting-gun.He raised his left hand, Herbert said--no doubt he still asked ahearing--but the king leveled his weapon. With a spring Rupert gainedthe shelter of the door, the bullet sped by him, and buried itselfin the wall of the room. Then Herbert was at him with the boar-spear.Explanations must wait now: it was life or death; without hesitationRupert fired at Herbert, bringing him to the ground with a mortal wound.The king's gun was at his shoulder again.
"You damned fool!" roared Rupert, "if you must have it, take it," andgun and revolver rang out at the same moment. But Rupert--never did hisnerve fail him--hit, the king missed; Herbert saw the count stand foran instant with his smoking barrel in his hand, looking at the king,who lay on the ground. Then Rupert walked towards the door. I wish Ihad seen his face then! Did he frown or smile? Was triumph or chagrinuppermost? Remorse? Not he!
He reached the door and passed through. That was the last Herbert saw ofhim; but the fourth actor in the drama, the wordless player whose parthad been so momentous, took the stage. Limping along, now whining insharp agony, now growling in fierce anger, with blood flowing but hairbristling, the hound Boris dragged himself across the room, through thedoor, after Rupert of Hentzau. Herbert listened, raising his head fromthe ground. There was a growl, an oath, the sound of the scuffle. Rupertmust have turned in time to receive the dog's spring. The beast, maimedand crippled by his shattered shoulder, did not reach his enemy's face,but his teeth tore away the bit of cloth that we had found held in thevise of his jaws. Then came another shot, a laugh, retreating steps,and a door slammed. With that last sound Herbert woke to the fact of thecount's escape; with weary efforts he dragged himself into the passage.The idea that he could go on if he got a drink of brandy turned him inthe direction of the cellar. But his strength failed, and he sank downwhere we found him, not knowing whether the king were dead or stillalive, and unable even to make his way back to the room where his masterlay stretched on the ground.
I had listened to the story, bound as though by a spell. Halfwaythrough, James's hand had crept to my arm and rested there; when Herbertfinished I heard the little man licking his lips, again and againslapping his tongue against them. Then I looked at Sapt. He was as paleas a ghost, and the lines on his face seemed to have grown deeper.He glanced up, and met my regard. Neither of us spoke; we exchangedthoughts with our eyes. "This is our work," we said to one another. "Itwas our trap, these are our victims." I cannot even now think of thathour, for by our act the king lay dead.
But was he dead? I seized Sapt by the arm. His glance questioned me.
"The king," I whispered hoarsely.
"Yes, the king," he returned.
Facing round, we walked to the door of the dining-room. Here I turnedsuddenly faint, and clutched at the constable. He held me up, and pushedthe door wide open. The smell of powder was in the room; it seemed asif the smoke hung about, curling in dim coils round the chandelier whichgave a subdued light. James had the lamp now, and followed us with it.But the king was not there. A sudden hope filled me. He had not beenkilled then! I regained strength, and darted across towards the insideroom. Here too the light was dim, and I turned to beckon for the lamp.Sapt and James came together, and stood peering over my shoulder in thedoorway.
The king lay prone on the floor, face downwards, near the bed. He hadcrawled there, seeking for some place to rest, as we supposed. He didnot move. We watched him for a moment; the silence seemed deeperthan silence could be. At last, moved by a common impulse, we steppedforward, but timidly, as though we approached the throne of Deathhimself. I was the first to kneel by the king and raise his head. Bloodhad flowed from his lips, but it had ceased to flow now. He was dead.
I felt Sapt's hand on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw his other handstretched out towards the ground. I turned my eyes where he pointed.There, in the king's hand, stained with the king'sblood, was the boxthat I had carried to Wintenberg and Rupert of Hentzau had brought tothe lodge that night. It was not rest, but the box that the dying kinghad sought in his last moment. I bent, and lifting his hand unclaspedthe fingers, still limp and warm.
Sapt bent down with sudden eagerness. "Is it open?" he whispered.
The string was round it; the sealing-wax was unbroken. The secrethad outlived the king, and he had gone to his death unknowing. Allat once--I cannot tell why--I put my hand over my eyes; I found myeyelashes were wet.
"Is it open?" asked Sapt again, for in the dim light he could not see.
"No," I answered.
"Thank God!" said he. And, for Sapt's, the voice was soft.