My battered head ached most consumedly. Mr. Rassendyll rang the
bell twice, and a short, thickset man of middle age appeared; he
wore a suit of tweed, and had the air of smartness and
respectability which marks English servants.
"James," said Rudolf, "this gentleman has hurt his head. Look
after it."
James went out. In a few minutes he was back, with water, basin,
towels, and bandages. Bending over me, he began to wash and tend
my wound very deftly. Rudolf was walking up and down.
"Done the head, James?" he asked, after a few moments.
"Yes, sir," answered the servant, gathering together his
appliances.
"Telegraph forms, then."
James went out, and was back with the forms in an instant.
"Be ready when I ring," said Rudolf. And he added, turning to me,
"Any easier, Fritz?"
"I can listen to you now," I said.
"I see their game," said he. "One or other of them, Rupert or
this Rischenheim, will try to get to the king with the letter."
I sprang to my feet.
"They mustn't," I cried, and I reeled back into my chair, with a
feeling as if a red-hot poker were being run through my head.
"Much you can do to stop 'em, old fellow," smiled Rudolf, pausing
to press my hand as he went by.
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