‘The baroness sent me to know how the young gentleman was,’ he said, speaking in the Swabian dialect.
‘Herr von Greifenstein is dying,’ answered Rex gravely.
‘Then I had better go and tell her so,’ said the man, calmly, though his face fell at the bad news. He was already turning away when Rex stopped him.
‘Have you come on foot?’ he asked, looking curiously at a fellow who could run over from Sigmundskron and go back almost without taking breath.
‘Of course,’ was the answer.
‘Then you can go home in the carriage. I have just ordered it. Give him something to eat quickly,’ he added, turning to the servant, ‘before Karl is ready.’
‘I shall be there before your carriage,’ observed the man carelessly. ‘Especially if you will give me a drink of cherry spirits.’
‘Before the carriage?’
‘Not if I stay here,’ said the other. ‘But I can beat your horses by half an hour at least.’
‘What is your name?’ asked Rex while the servant was gone for the drink.