For now Rosa had given the alarm,
Bernenstein and I--or I and Bernenstein (for I was first, and,
therefore, may put myself first)--had rushed up. Hard behind us
came Rischenheim, and hot on his heels a score of fellows,
pushing and shouldering and trampling. We in front had a fair
start, and gained the stairs unimpeded; Rischenheim was caught up
in the ruck and gulfed in the stormy, tossing group that
struggled for first footing on the steps. Yet, soon they were
after us, and we heard them reach the first landing as we sped up
to the last. There was a confused din through all the house, and
it seemed now to echo muffled and vague through the walls from
the street without. I was conscious of it, although I paid no
heed to anything but reaching the room where the king--where
Rudolf--was. Now I was there, Bernenstein hanging to my heels.
The door did not hold us a second. I was in, he after me. He
slammed the door and set his back against it, just as the rush of
feet flooded the highest flight of stairs. And at the moment a
revolver shot rang clear and loud.
The lieutenant and I stood still, he against the door, I a pace
farther into the room. The sight we saw was enough to arrest us
with its strange interest.
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