“My dear, you wouldn’t like it for long,” answered the elder. “It’s very nice for a change, but—”
She stopped abruptly. Her eye had fallen on Rudolf Rassendyll. He knew her: she was no less a person than the wife of Helsing the chancellor; his was the house at which the carriage had stopped. The trick that had served with the sergeant of police would not do now. She knew the king too well to believe that she could be mistaken about him; she was too much of a busybody to be content to pretend that she was mistaken.
“Good gracious!” she whispered loudly, and, catching her daughter’s arm, she murmured, “Heavens, my dear, it’s the king!”
Rudolf was caught. Not only the ladies, but their servants were looking at him.
Flight was impossible. He walked by them. The ladies curtseyed, the servants bowed bare-headed. Rudolf touched his hat and bowed slightly in return. He walked straight on towards my house; they were watching him, and he knew it. Most heartily did he curse the untimely hours to which folks keep up their dancing, but he thought that a visit to my house would afford as plausible an excuse for his presence as any other. So he went on, surveyed by the wondering ladies, and by the servants who, smothering smiles, asked one another what brought his Majesty abroad in such a plight (for Rudolf’s clothes were soaked and his boots muddy), at such an hour—and that in Strelsau, when all the world thought he was at Zenda.
Rudolf reached my house. Knowing that he was watched he had abandoned all intention of giving the signal agreed on between my wife and himself and of making his way in through the window. Such a sight would indeed have given the excellent Baroness von Helsing matter for gossip! It was better to let every servant in my house see his open entrance. But, alas, virtue itself sometimes leads to ruin. My dearest Helga, sleepless and watchful in the interest of her mistress, was even now behind the shutter, listening with all her ears and peering through the chinks. No sooner did Rudolf’s footsteps become audible than she cautiously unfastened the shutter, opened the window, put her pretty head out, and called softly: “All’s safe! Come in!”
The mischief was done then, for the faces of Helsing’s wife and daughter, ay, and the faces of Helsing’s servants, were intent on this most strange spectacle. Rudolf, turning his head over his shoulder, saw them; a moment later poor Helga saw them also. Innocent and untrained in controlling her feelings, she gave a shrill little cry of dismay, and hastily drew back. Rudolf looked round again. The ladies had retreated to the cover of the porch, but he still saw their eager faces peering from between the pillars that supported it.
“I may as well go in now,” said Rudolf, and in he sprang. There was a merry smile on his face as he ran forward to meet Helga, who leant against the table, pale and agitated.
“They saw you?” she gasped.
“Undoubtedly,” said he. Then his sense of amusement conquered everything else, and he sat down in a chair, laughing.