I opened my eyes, and found two men regarding me with much curiosity. Both wore shooting costumes and carried guns. One was rather short and very stoutly built, with a big bullet-shaped head, a bristly grey moustache, and small pale-blue eyes, a trifle bloodshot. The other was a slender young fellow, of middle height, dark in complexion, and bearing himself with grace and distinction. I set the one down as an old soldier: the other for a gentleman accustomed to move in good society, but not unused to military life either. It turned out afterwards that my guess was a good one.
The elder man approached me, beckoning the younger to follow. He did so, courteously raising his hat. I rose slowly to my feet.
“He’s the height, too!” I heard the elder murmur, as he surveyed my six feet two inches of stature. Then, with a cavalier touch of the cap, he addressed me:
“May I ask your name?”
“As you have taken the first step in the acquaintance, gentlemen,” said I, with a smile, “suppose you give me a lead in the matter of names.”
The young man stepped forward with a pleasant smile.
“This,” said he, “is Colonel Sapt, and I am called Fritz von Tarlenheim: we are both in the service of the King of Ruritania.”
I bowed and, baring my head, answered:
“I am Rudolf Rassendyll. I am a traveller from England; and once for a year or two I held a commission from her Majesty the Queen.”
“Then we are all brethren of the sword,” answered Tarlenheim, holding out his hand, which I took readily.