The Prisoner of Zenda

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Book: Read The Prisoner of Zenda for Free Online
Authors: Anthony Hope
later on.”
    Then I burst out laughing, and even old Sapt grimly smiled.
    â€œI fancy,” said he, “that when Josef tells them the King is gone they’ll think it is because we smelt a rat. For you may swear Black Michael doesn’t expect to see him in Strelsau today.”
    I put the King’s helmet on my head. Old Sapt handed me the King’s sword, looking at me long and carefully.
    â€œThank God, he shaved his beard!” he exclaimed.
    â€œWhy did he?” I asked.
    â€œBecause Princess Flavia said he grazed her cheek when he was graciously pleased to give her a cousinly kiss. Come though, we must ride.”
    â€œIs all safe here?”
    â€œNothing’s safe anywhere,” said Sapt, “but we can make it no safer.”
    Fritz now rejoined us in the uniform of a captain in the same regiment as that to which my dress belonged. In four minutes Sapt had arrayed himself in his uniform. Josef called that the horses were ready. We jumped on their backs and started at a rapid trot. The game had begun. What would the issue of it be?
    The cool morning air cleared my head, and I was able to take in all Sapt said to me. He was wonderful. Fritz hardly spoke, riding like a man asleep, but Sapt, without another word for the King, began at once to instruct me most minutely in the history of my past life, of my family, of my tastes, pursuits, weaknesses, friends, companions, and servants. He told me the etiquette of the Ruritanian Court, promising to be constantly at my elbow to point out everybody whom I ought to know, and give me hints with what degree of favour to greet them.
    â€œBy the way,” he said, “you’re a Catholic, I suppose?”
    â€œNot I,” I answered.
    â€œLord, he’s a heretic!” groaned Sapt, and forthwith he fell to a rudimentary lesson in the practices and observances of the Romish faith.
    â€œLuckily,” said he, “you won’t be expected to know much, for the King’s notoriously lax and careless about such matters. But you must be as civil as butter to the Cardinal. We hope to win him over, because he and Michael have a standing quarrel about their precedence.”
    We were by now at the station. Fritz had recovered nerve enough to explain to the astonished station master that the King had changed his plans. The train steamed up. We got into a first-class carriage, and Sapt, leaning back on the cushions, went on with his lesson. I looked at my watch—the King’s watch it was, of course. It was just eight.
    â€œI wonder if they’ve gone to look for us,” I said.
    â€œI hope they won’t find the King,” said Fritz nervously, and this time it was Sapt who shrugged his shoulders.
    The train travelled well, and at half-past nine, looking out of the window, I saw the towers and spires of a great city.
    â€œYour capital, my liege,” grinned old Sapt, with a wave of his hand, and, leaning forward, he laid his finger on my pulse. “A little too quick,” said he, in his grumbling tone.
    â€œI’m not made of stone!” I exclaimed.
    â€œYou’ll do,” said he, with a nod. “We must say Fritz here has caught the ague. Drain your flask, Fritz, for heaven’s sake, boy!”
    Fritz did as he was bid.
    â€œWe’re an hour early,” said Sapt. “We’ll send word forward for your Majesty’s arrival, for there’ll be no one here to meet us yet. And meanwhile—”
    â€œMeanwhile,” said I, “the King’ll be hanged if he doesn’t have some breakfast.”
    Old Sapt chuckled, and held out his hand.
    â€œYou’re an Elphberg, every inch of you,” said he. Then he paused, and looking at us, said quietly, “God send we may be alive tonight!”
    â€œAmen!” said Fritz von Tarlenheim.
    The train stopped. Fritz and Sapt leapt out, uncovered, and held the door for me. I choked down a lump that rose in my throat,

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