The Prisoner of Zenda

by Anthony Hope

  CHAPTER 18

  The Forcing of the Trap

  The position wherein I stood does not appear very favourable to thought;yet for the next moment or two I thought profoundly. I had, I toldmyself, scored one point. Be Rupert Hentzau's errand what it might, andthe villainy he was engaged on what it would, I had scored one point. Hewas on the other side of the moat from the King, and it would be by nofault of mine if ever he set foot on the same side again. I had threeleft to deal with: two on guard and De Gautet in his bed. Ah, if Ihad the keys! I would have risked everything and attacked Detchard andBersonin before their friends could join them. But I was powerless. Imust wait till the coming of my friends enticed someone to cross thebridge--someone with the keys. And I waited, as it seemed, for half anhour, really for about five minutes, before the next act in the rapiddrama began.

  All was still on the other side. The duke's room remained inscrutablebehind its shutters. The light burnt steadily in Madame de Mauban'swindow. Then I heard the faintest, faintest sound: it came from behindthe door which led to the drawbridge on the other side of the moat. Itbut just reached my ear, yet I could not be mistaken as to what it was.It was made by a key being turned very carefully and slowly. Who wasturning it? And of what room was it the key? There leapt before my eyesthe picture of young Rupert, with the key in one hand, his sword in theother, and an evil smile on his face. But I did not know what door itwas, nor on which of his favourite pursuits young Rupert was spendingthe hours of that night.

  I was soon to be enlightened, for the next moment--before my friendscould be near the chateau door--before Johann the keeper would havethought to nerve himself for his task--there was a sudden crash fromthe room with the lighted window. It sounded as though someone had flungdown a lamp; and the window went dark and black. At the same instant acry rang out, shrill in the night: "Help, help! Michael, help!" and wasfollowed by a shriek of utter terror.

  I was tingling in every nerve. I stood on the topmost step, clinging tothe threshold of the gate with my right hand and holding my sword in myleft. Suddenly I perceived that the gateway was broader than the bridge;there was a dark corner on the opposite side where a man could stand. Idarted across and stood there. Thus placed, I commanded the path, and noman could pass between the chateau and the old Castle till he had triedconclusions with me.

  There was another shriek. Then a door was flung open and clanged againstthe wall, and I heard the handle of a door savagely twisted.

  "Open the door! In God's name, what's the matter?" cried a voice--thevoice of Black Michael himself.

  He was answered by the very words I had written in my letter.

  "Help, Michael--Hentzau!"

  A fierce oath rang out from the duke, and with a loud thud he threwhimself against the door. At the same moment I heard a window above myhead open, and a voice cried: "What's the matter?" and I heard a man'shasty footsteps. I grasped my sword. If De Gautet came my way, the Sixwould be less by one more.

  Then I heard the clash of crossed swords and a tramp of feet and--Icannot tell the thing so quickly as it happened, for all seemed to comeat once. There was an angry cry from madame's room, the cry of a woundedman; the window was flung open; young Rupert stood there sword in hand.He turned his back, and I saw his body go forward to the lunge.

  "Ah, Johann, there's one for you! Come on, Michael!"

  Johann was there, then--come to the rescue of the duke! How would heopen the door for me? For I feared that Rupert had slain him.

  "Help!" cried the duke's voice, faint and husky.

  I heard a step on the stairs above me; and I heard a stir down to myleft, in the direction of the King's cell. But, before anything happenedon my side of the moat, I saw five or six men round young Rupert inthe embrasure of madame's window. Three or four times he lunged withincomparable dash and dexterity. For an instant they fell back, leavinga ring round him. He leapt on the parapet of the window, laughing as heleapt, and waving his sword in his hand. He was drunk with blood, and helaughed again wildly as he flung himself headlong into the moat.

  What became of him then? I did not see: for as he leapt, De Gautet'slean face looked out through the door by me, and, without a second'shesitation, I struck at him with all the strength God had given me, andhe fell dead in the doorway without a word or a groan. I dropped on myknees by him. Where were the keys? I found myself muttering: "The keys,man, the keys?" as though he had been yet alive and could listen; andwhen I could not find them, I--God forgive me!--I believe I struck adead man's face.

  At last I had them. There were but three. Seizing the largest, I feltthe lock of the door that led to the cell. I fitted in the key. It wasright. The lock turned. I drew the door close behind me and locked it asnoiselessly as I could, putting the key in my pocket.

  I found myself at the top of a flight of steep stone stairs. An oil lampburnt dimly in the bracket. I took it down and held it in my hand; and Istood and listened.

  "What in the devil can it be?" I heard a voice say.

  It came from behind a door that faced me at the bottom of the stairs.

  And another answered:

  "Shall we kill him?"

  I strained to hear the answer, and could have sobbed with relief whenDetchard's voice came grating and cold:

  "Wait a bit. There'll be trouble if we strike too soon."

  There was a moment's silence. Then I heard the bolt of the doorcautiously drawn back. Instantly I put out the light I held, replacingthe lamp in the bracket.

  "It's dark--the lamp's out. Have you a light?" said the othervoice--Bersonin's.

  No doubt they had a light, but they should not use it. It was come tothe crisis now, and I rushed down the steps and flung myself against thedoor. Bersonin had unbolted it and it gave way before me. The Belgianstood there sword in hand, and Detchard was sitting on a couch at theside of the room. In astonishment at seeing me, Bersonin recoiled;Detchard jumped to his sword. I rushed madly at the Belgian: he gaveway before me, and I drove him up against the wall. He was no swordsman,though he fought bravely, and in a moment he lay on the floor beforeme. I turned--Detchard was not there. Faithful to his orders, he hadnot risked a fight with me, but had rushed straight to the door of theKing's room, opened it and slammed it behind him. Even now he was at hiswork inside.

  And surely he would have killed the King, and perhaps me also, had itnot been for one devoted man who gave his life for the King. For when Iforced the door, the sight I saw was this: the King stood in the cornerof the room: broken by his sickness, he could do nothing; his fetteredhands moved uselessly up and down, and he was laughing horribly inhalf-mad delirium. Detchard and the doctor were together in the middleof the room; and the doctor had flung himself on the murderer, pinninghis hands to his sides for an instant. Then Detchard wrenched himselffree from the feeble grip, and, as I entered, drove his sword throughthe hapless man. Then he turned on me, crying:

  "At last!"

  We were sword to sword. By blessed chance, neither he nor Bersonin hadbeen wearing their revolvers. I found them afterwards, ready loaded,on the mantelpiece of the outer room: it was hard by the door, ready totheir hands, but my sudden rush in had cut off access to them. Yes, wewere man to man: and we began to fight, silently, sternly, and hard.Yet I remember little of it, save that the man was my match with thesword--nay, and more, for he knew more tricks than I; and that he forcedme back against the bars that guarded the entrance to "Jacob's Ladder."And I saw a smile on his face, and he wounded me in the left arm.

  No glory do I take for that contest. I believe that the man would havemastered me and slain me, and then done his butcher's work, for he wasthe most skilful swordsman I have ever met; but even as he pressed mehard, the half-mad, wasted, wan creature in the corner leapt high inlunatic mirth, shrieking:

  "It's cousin Rudolf! Cousin Rudolf! I'll help you, cousin Rudolf!" andcatching up a chair in his hands (he could but just lift it from theground and hold it uselessly before him) he came towards us. Hope cameto me. "Come on!"
I cried. "Come on! Drive it against his legs."

  Detchard replied with a savage thrust. He all but had me.

  "Come on! Come on, man!" I cried. "Come and share the fun!"

  And the King laughed gleefully, and came on, pushing his chair beforehim.

  With an oath Detchard skipped back, and, before I knew what he wasdoing, had turned his sword against the King. He made one fierce cut atthe King, and the King, with a piteous cry, dropped where he stood. Thestout ruffian turned to face me again. But his own hand had preparedhis destruction: for in turning he trod in the pool of blood that flowedfrom the dead physician. He slipped; he fell. Like a dart I was uponhim. I caught him by the throat, and before he could recover himself Idrove my point through his neck, and with a stifled curse he fell acrossthe body of his victim.

  Was the King dead? It was my first thought. I rushed to where he lay.Ay, it seemed as if he were dead, for he had a great gash across hisforehead, and he lay still in a huddled heap on the floor. I dropped onmy knees beside him, and leant my ear down to hear if he breathed. Butbefore I could there was a loud rattle from the outside. I knew thesound: the drawbridge was being pushed out. A moment later it rang homeagainst the wall on my side of the moat. I should be caught in a trapand the King with me, if he yet lived. He must take his chance, tolive or die. I took my sword, and passed into the outer room. Who werepushing the drawbridge out--my men? If so, all was well. My eye fell onthe revolvers, and I seized one; and paused to listen in the doorway ofthe outer room. To listen, say I? Yes, and to get my breath: and I toremy shirt and twisted a strip of it round my bleeding arm; and stoodlistening again. I would have given the world to hear Sapt's voice. ForI was faint, spent, and weary. And that wild-cat Rupert Hentzau was yetat large in the Castle. Yet, because I could better defend the narrowdoor at the top of the stairs than the wider entrance to the room, Idragged myself up the steps, and stood behind it listening.

  What was the sound? Again a strange one for the place and time. Aneasy, scornful, merry laugh--the laugh of young Rupert Hentzau! I couldscarcely believe that a sane man would laugh. Yet the laugh told me thatmy men had not come; for they must have shot Rupert ere now, if they hadcome. And the clock struck half-past two! My God! The door had not beenopened! They had gone to the bank! They had not found me! They had goneby now back to Tarlenheim, with the news of the King's death--and mine.Well, it would be true before they got there. Was not Rupert laughing intriumph?

  For a moment, I sank, unnerved, against the door. Then I started upalert again, for Rupert cried scornfully:

  "Well, the bridge is there! Come over it! And in God's name, let's seeBlack Michael. Keep back, you curs! Michael, come and fight for her!"

  If it were a three-cornered fight, I might yet bear my part. I turnedthe key in the door and looked out.