“I see,” he said, with drunken gravity, “you have hypnotized him, Rudolph. It is well.”
“Yes, that’s it,” answered the lodge-keeper, who was weighing all the chances and trying to reach a decision. Finally he said, “Ludovics, I must get back to the lodge at once. You passed a large white house with pillars in front of it, about a quarter of a mile below here. There’s a sign on the gate reading ‘Dr. C. H. Moore.’ Now I want you to go back there and tell the doctor to come to the lodge at once. Do you understand me?”
Ludovics drew himself up haughtily, as if Rudolph had cast a slur upon his intellectual ability.
“Of course I understand you,” he answered, petulantly. Then a vivid suspicion flashed through his befuddled brain.
“Tell me, Rudolph,” he cried, in low, feverish tones, “is he sick? Didn’t his food agree with him? Ha ha! Well done, Rudolph! I knew you were the right kind, Rudolph. He needs a doctor, does he? Good! I’ll go and get the doctor, Rudolph. Give him something more to eat and drink before the doctor gets there, brother. He’s a stubborn boy, you know. But I trust you, Rudolph, I trust you. Dr. Moore, you said? Dr. Moore? Down the road? Very good, Rudolph. I’m off.” Ludovics laughed with a fiendish glee that horrified even the unimpressionable lodge-keeper.
“Be careful what you say, Ludovics,” he said, harshly. “Simply ring the bell and say that Dr. Moore is wanted at the Strongs’ manor-house. Understand me! Don’t talk too much, or you may get into trouble. Now go.”
Leaning forward, Rudolph directed the driver to arouse himself and his horse from lethargy and return to the lodge gate. A moment later the broken-spirited horse was retracing his steps hopelessly, while Rudolph was leaning back in his seat in a more contented frame of mind. He had saved at least ten minutes by entrusting his mission to Ludovics.
The latter had turned his back on the vehicle and was making his way down the road at a pace that indicated a set purpose and a slight recovery from alcoholic domination on his part. Suddenly he paused, looked back at the retreating carriage, and, leaving the road, leaned against a fence and indulged for a moment in an inward debate. Then he took from a pocket in his coat a flask that he had purchased at the road-house, and, removing the cork, swallowed a fiery mouthful of the raw liquor.
“I wonder,” he said argumentatively to himself, “I wonder if Rudolph is a truly patriotic cook? There’s a king up here in Westchester County who needs a doctor. I’m going for the doctor. I look well, don’t I, Ludovics, getting a doctor for a sick king? I wish I knew how sick he is. If he’s as sick of himself as I am of kings, he’ll die anyway.” He staggered to the road and turned again toward the manor-house.