“I don’t think I’m a success going for doctors,” he mused. “I do better when I’m going for kings.” He placed an unsteady hand on the rear pocket of his trousers and satisfied himself that the revolver he had purchased with a part of Norman Benedict’s gratuity was in its place.
“There’s nothing so good for a sick king as pills,” he muttered. “Pills! Pills made of lead! They’re much more certain than Rudolph’s cooking. Rudolph means well, but he doesn’t drink enough brandy.”
As this conclusion forced itself upon him, he stopped again and drew fresh patriotic inspiration from his flask. It was beginning to grow dark as Ludovics reached the high fence that enclosed the grounds of the manor-house and ran up flush with the front wall of the lodge. The sun had sunk in the west like a glowing cannon-ball blushing for its crimes.
“It’s lucky I’m small,” mused Ludovics, as he nimbly mounted the railing and let himself down on the other side. For a moment it struck him as curious that he could climb a fence with more assurance than he could follow a roadway.
“That must be good brandy,” he muttered. “It doesn’t help my walking much, but it makes me climb like a cat.”
Stealthily he made his way through the tangled grass that covered the lawn until he stood beneath the balcony at the rear of the manor-house. The waters of the Sound were leaden-hued, and the gathering gloom of night gave a dreary aspect to the scene before him.
“The doctor has come,” said Ludovics to himself, a mocking smile overspreading his face as he glanced upward and saw how easy it would be for a man of his weight and agility to reach the second story of the manor-house. “Just where my patient is, I don’t know, but I’m almost sure that Rudolph said he was going to put the king in the rear room on the second floor.” The cold, damp breeze that had arisen when the sun went down chilled the murderous little Rexanian to the marrow: another pull at the flask was necessary to check the trembling of his hands.
“I’ll cure him,” he continued, leaning against one of the posts that supported the balcony. “I’ll cure him. My medicine chest is ready for use. It never fails. When I doctor a king—eh, Ludovics?—he’s never sick again, is he? Rudolph’s cooking is not so sure as my little pills. One pill in a vital part, and the man is never sick again! Isn’t that wonderful? Never sick again!”
Thus muttering to himself, Ludovics began to climb the post at the southern end of the balcony, his teeth gleaming in the half-light as he grinned maliciously, while his eyes glanced with feverish eagerness at a ray of light that flared from a window above him.