Sapt looked at him almost apprehensively.
“How is the king’s body to come to the forest of Zenda?” asked James. “Or how is the king’s body to go to the city of Strelsau?”
“Stop your damned riddles!” roared Sapt. “Man, are you bent on driving me into it?”
The servant came near to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You went into as great a thing once before, sir,” said he.
“It was to save the king.”
“And this is to save the queen and yourself. For if we don’t do it, the truth about my master must be known.”
Sapt made him no answer. They sat down again in silence.
There they sat, sometimes smoking, never speaking, while the tedious afternoon wore away, and the shadows from the trees of the forest lengthened. They did not think of eating or drinking; they did not move, save when James rose and lit a little fire of brushwood in the grate. It grew dusk and again James moved to light the lamp. It was hard on six o’clock, and still no news came from Strelsau.
Then there was the sound of a horse’s hoofs. The two rushed to the door, beyond it, and far along the grassy road that gave approach to the hunting-lodge. They forgot to guard the secret and the door gaped open behind them. Sapt ran as he had not run for many a day, and outstripped his companion. There was a message from Strelsau!