CHAPTER XV. A PASTIME FOR COLONEL SAPT
THE Constable of Zenda and James, Mr. Rassendyll’s servant, sat at breakfast in the hunting-lodge. They were in the small room which was ordinarily used as the bedroom of the gentleman in attendance on the king: they chose it now because it commanded a view of the approach. The door of the house was securely fastened; they were prepared to refuse admission; in case refusal was impossible, the preparations for concealing the king’s body and that of his huntsman Herbert were complete. Inquirers would be told that the king had ridden out with his huntsman at daybreak, promising to return in the evening but not stating where he was going; Sapt was under orders to await his return, and James was expecting instructions from his master the Count of Tarlenheim. Thus armed against discovery, they looked for news from me which should determine their future action.
Meanwhile there was an interval of enforced idleness. Sapt, his meal finished, puffed away at his great pipe; James, after much pressure, had consented to light a small black clay, and sat at his ease with his legs stretched before him. His brows were knit, and a curious half-smile played about his mouth.
“What may you be thinking about, friend James?” asked the constable between two puffs. He had taken a fancy to the alert, ready little fellow.
James smoked for a moment, and then took his pipe from his mouth.
“I was thinking, sir, that since the king is dead—”
He paused.
“The king is no doubt dead, poor fellow,” said Sapt, nodding.
“That since he’s certainly dead, and since my master, Mr. Rassendyll, is alive—”
“So far as we know, James,” Sapt reminded him.