But he was now, on receiving his apology, content to let him go,
and so end the gossip which, to his Highness's annoyance, had arisen
concerning a prisoner in Zenda, and had given his visitors the trouble
of this enquiry. The visitors, baffled, would retire, and Michael could,
at his leisure, dispose of the body of the King.
Sapt, Fritz, and I in my bed, looked round on one another in horror and
bewilderment at the cruelty and cunning of the plan. Whether I went
in peace or in war, openly at the head of a corps, or secretly by a
stealthy assault, the King would be dead before I could come near him.
If Michael were stronger and overcame my party, there would be an end.
But if I were stronger, I should have no way to punish him, no means of
proving any guilt in him without proving my own guilt also. On the other
hand, I should be left as King (ah! for a moment my pulse quickened) and
it would be for the future to witness the final struggle between him and
me. He seemed to have made triumph possible and ruin impossible. At
the worst, he would stand as well as he had stood before I crossed
his path--with but one man between him and the throne, and that man an
impostor; at best, there would be none left to stand against him. I had
begun to think that Black Michael was over fond of leaving the fighting
to his friends; but now I acknowledged that the brains, if not the arms,
of the conspiracy were his.
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