“Yes, he’d probably be taken or killed,” said Sapt.
“Then let’s do it!” I cried.
“With the queen’s letter on him,” said Colonel Sapt.
I had forgotten.
“We have the box, he has the letter still,” said Sapt.
I could have laughed even at that moment. He had left the box (whether from haste or heedlessness or malice, we could not tell), but the letter was on him. Taken alive, he would use that powerful weapon to save his life or satisfy his anger; if it were found on his body, its evidence would speak loud and clear to all the world. Again he was protected by his crime: while he had the letter, he must be kept inviolate from all attack except at our own hands. We desired his death, but we must be his body-guard and die in his defense rather than let any other but ourselves come at him. No open means must be used, and no allies sought. All this rushed to my mind at Sapt’s words, and I saw what the constable and James had never forgotten. But what to do I could not see. For the King of Ruritania lay dead.
An hour or more had passed since our discovery, and it was now close on midnight. Had all gone well we ought by this time to have been far on our road back to the castle; by this time Rupert must be miles away from where he had killed the king; already Mr. Rassendyll would be seeking his enemy in Strelsau.
“But what are we to do about—about that, then?” I asked, pointing with my finger through the doorway towards the bed.
Sapt gave a last tug at his moustache, then crossed his hands on the hilt of the sword between his knees, and leant forward in his chair.
“Nothing, he said,” looking at my face. “Until we have the letter, nothing.”