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.”