Then, at last, I was left alone. I called my new servant (we had chosen,
to succeed poor Josef, a young man who had never known the King), had a
brandy-and-soda brought to me, and observed to Sapt that I trusted that
I might now have a rest. Fritz von Tarlenheim was standing by.
"By heaven!" he cried, "we waste time. Aren't we going to throw Black
Michael by the heels?"
"Gently, my son, gently," said Sapt, knitting his brows. "It would be
a pleasure, but it might cost us dear. Would Michael fall and leave the
King alive?"
"And," I suggested, "while the King is here in Strelsau, on his throne,
what grievance has he against his dear brother Michael?"
"Are we to do nothing, then?"
"We're to do nothing stupid," growled Sapt.
"In fact, Fritz," said I, "I am reminded of a situation in one of our
English plays--The Critic--have you heard of it? Or, if you like, of two
men, each covering the other with a revolver. For I can't expose Michael
without exposing myself--"
"And the King," put in Sapt.
"And, hang me if Michael won't expose himself, if he tries to expose
me!"
"It's very pretty," said old Sapt.
"If I'm found out," I pursued, "I will make a clean breast of it, and
fight it out with the duke; but at present I'm waiting for a move from
him.
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