"The queen must know," said Sapt. "Let her stay at Zenda and give
out that the king is at the lodge for a day or two longer. Then
you, Fritz--for you must ride to the castle at once--and
Bernenstein must get to Strelsau as quick as you can, and find
Rudolf Rassendyll. You three ought to be able to track young
Rupert down and get the letter from him. If he's not in the city,
you must catch Rischenheim, and force him to say where he is; we
know Rischenheim can be persuaded. If Rupert's there, I need give
no advice either to you or to Rudolf."
"And you?"
"James and I stay here. If any one comes whom we can keep out,
the king is ill. If rumors get about, and great folk come, why,
they must enter."
"But the body?"
"This morning, when you're gone, we shall make a temporary grave.
I dare say two," and he jerked his thumb towards poor Herbert.
"Or even," he added, with his grim smile, "three--for our friend
Boris, too, must be out of sight."
"You'll bury the king?"
"Not so deep but that we can take him out again, poor fellow.
Well, Fritz, have you a better plan?"
I had no plan, and I was not in love with Sapt's plan. Yet it
offered us four and twenty hours.
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