“Well,” he continued, “I am going to wire to Sapt to put Rischenheim off for twelve hours if he can; failing that, to get the king away from Zenda.”
“But Rischenheim must have his audience sooner or later,” I objected.
“Sooner or later—there’s the world’s difference between them!” cried Rudolf Rassendyll. He sat down on the bed by me, and went on in quick, decisive words: “You can’t move for a day or two. Send my message to Sapt. Tell him to keep you informed of what happens. As soon as you can travel, go to Strelsau, and let Sapt know directly you arrive. We shall want your help.”
“And what are you going to do?” I cried, staring at him.
He looked at me for a moment, and his face was crossed by conflicting feelings. I saw resolve there, obstinacy, and the scorn of danger; fun, too, and merriment; and, lastly, the same radiance I spoke of. He had been smoking a cigarette; now he threw the end of it into the grate and rose from the bed where he had been sitting.
“I’m going to Zenda,” said he.
“To Zenda!” I cried, amazed.
“Yes,” said Rudolf. “I’m going again to Zenda, Fritz, old fellow. By heaven, I knew it would come, and now it has come!”
“But to do what?”
“I shall overtake Rischenheim or be hot on his heels. If he gets there first, Sapt will keep him waiting till I come; and if I come, he shall never see the king. Yes, if I come in time—” He broke into a sudden laugh. “What!” he cried, “have I lost my likeness? Can’t I still play the king? Yes, if I come in time, Rischenheim shall have his audience of the king of Zenda, and the king will be very gracious to him, and the king will take his copy of the letter from him! Oh, Rischenheim shall have an audience of King Rudolf in the castle of Zenda, never fear!”