CHAPTER XIII.
“Frankly, your royal highness,” said Herr Bennett to the princess fifteen minutes later, “there are symptoms in the case that worry me. At first, I thought his majesty was attacked by a simple fainting fit, caused by his sudden rising at the table. His breathing, however, and other indications lead me to believe that he is in a very precarious condition.”
They stood together apart, while Fraulein Müller and Carl Eingen, conversing in low whispers, watched beside the prostrated king.
Count von Reibach and Baron Wollenstein, not unnoticed by Cousin Fritz, had left the apartment together.
“We must have a talk at once, Count,” Wollenstein had said to his fellow-conspirator. “Come into the cellars with me. We won’t be missed at this moment.” Unknown to them, the dwarf had stolen into the dark vaults by their side so close to them that he could hear every word they said.
“Is he hard hit, Baron?” asked Count von Reibach. “It looks to me like apoplexy.”
“I think it is,” answered Wollenstein, taking his companion by the arm and groping toward a better lighted portion of the cellar that lay beyond them. “He’s been a sick man for some time back, Count. I’m inclined to think that the suddenness of his overthrow has precipitated an attack that could not have been long delayed.”
“And what, to your mind, is our best play at this juncture, Baron?” asked von Reibach impressively. The serious nature of the crisis that confronted them had suddenly broken upon his not very active mind. His companion made no answer, but stood still, his head turned to one side.
“The very thing,” whispered Wollenstein hoarsely. “Read that, Count! How it got here I can’t imagine, but it’s a wonderful stroke of luck at this juncture.”
Count von Reibach followed his companion’s gaze and saw before them a type-written placard, the contents of which the reader has already learned.