To Rudolf we had dared to
disclose nothing of the part our imaginations set him to play: if
he were to accept it, the acceptance would be of his own act,
because the fate that old Sapt talked of drove him, and on no
persuasion of ours. As he had said, he left the rest, and had
centered all his efforts on the immediate task which fell to his
hand to perform, the task that was to be accomplished at the
dingy old house in the Konigstrasse. We were indeed awake to the
fact that even Rupert's death would not make the secret safe.
Rischenheim, although for the moment a prisoner and helpless, was
alive and could not be mewed up for ever; Bauer was we knew not
where, free to act and free to talk. Yet in our hearts we feared
none but Rupert, and the doubt was not whether we could do the
thing so much as whether we should. For in moments of excitement
and intense feeling a man makes light of obstacles which look
large enough as he turns reflective eyes on them in the quiet of
after-days.
A message in the king's name had persuaded the best part of the
idle crowd to disperse reluctantly. Rudolf himself had entered
one of my carriages and driven off. He started not towards the
Konigstrasse, but in the opposite direction: I supposed that he
meant to approach his destination by a circuitous way, hoping to
gain it without attracting notice.
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