Sapt ran on. Opening the gate that led to the bridge, he sped
across. Then, stepping on one side and turning his face to the
wall, he descended the steps that gave foothold down to the ledge
running six or eight inches above the water. He also was now in
the triangle of deep darkness, yet he knew that a man was there,
who stood straight and tall, rising above his own height. And he
felt his hand caught in a sudden grip. Rudolf Rassendyll was
there, in his wet drawers and socks.
"Is it you?" he whispered.
"Yes," answered Rudolf; "I swam round from the other side and got
here. Then I threw in a bit of mortar, but I wasn't sure I'd
roused you, and I didn't dare shout, so I followed it myself. Lay
hold of me a minute while I get on my breeches: I didn't want to
get wet, so I carried my clothes in a bundle. Hold me tight, it's
slippery."
"In God's name what brings you here?" whispered Sapt, catching
Rudolf by the arm as he was directed.
"The queen's service. When does Rischenheim come?"
"To-morrow at eight."
"The deuce! That's earlier than I thought. And the king?"
"Is here and determined to see him. It's impossible to move him
from it."
There was a moment's silence; Rudolf drew his shirt over his head
and tucked it into his trousers.
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