My eye fell on
the revolvers, and I seized one; and paused to listen in the doorway of
the outer room. To listen, say I? Yes, and to get my breath: and I tore
my shirt and twisted a strip of it round my bleeding arm; and stood
listening again. I would have given the world to hear Sapt's voice. For
I was faint, spent, and weary. And that wild-cat Rupert Hentzau was yet
at large in the Castle. Yet, because I could better defend the narrow
door at the top of the stairs than the wider entrance to the room, I
dragged myself up the steps, and stood behind it listening.
What was the sound? Again a strange one for the place and time. An
easy, scornful, merry laugh--the laugh of young Rupert Hentzau! I could
scarcely believe that a sane man would laugh. Yet the laugh told me that
my men had not come; for they must have shot Rupert ere now, if they had
come. And the clock struck half-past two! My God! The door had not been
opened! They had gone to the bank! They had not found me! They had gone
by now back to Tarlenheim, with the news of the King's death--and mine.
Well, it would be true before they got there. Was not Rupert laughing in
triumph?
For a moment, I sank, unnerved, against the door. Then I started up
alert again, for Rupert cried scornfully:
"Well, the bridge is there! Come over it! And in God's name, let's see
Black Michael.
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