The weary night journey wore itself away. Bauer came to me in the morning, performed his small services, repacked my hand-bag, procured6 me some coffee, and left me. It was then about eight o’clock; we had arrived at a station of some importance and were not to stop again till mid-day. I saw Bauer enter the second-class compartment7 in which he was traveling, and settled down in my own coupe. I think it was at this moment that the thought of Rischenheim came again into my head, and I found myself wondering why he clung to the hopeless idea of compassing Rupert’s return and what business had taken him from Strelsau. But I made little of the matter, and, drowsy8 from a broken night’s rest, soon fell into a doze9. I was alone in the carriage and could sleep without fear or danger. I was awakened10 by our noontide halt. Here I saw Bauer again. After taking a basin of soup, I went to the telegraph bureau to send a message to my wife; the receipt of it would not merely set her mind at case, but would also ensure word of my safe progress reaching the queen. As I entered the bureau I met Bauer coming out of it. He seemed rather startled at our encounter, but told me readily enough that he had been telegraphing for rooms at Wintenberg, a very needless precaution, since there was no danger of the hotel being full. In fact I was annoyed, as I especially wished to avoid calling attention to my arrival. However, the mischief11 was done, and to rebuke12 my servant might have aggravated13 it by setting his wits at work to find out my motive14 for secrecy15. So I said nothing, but passed by him with a nod. When the whole circumstances came to light, I had reason to suppose that besides his message to the inn-keeper, Bauer sent one of a character and to a quarter unsuspected by me.
We stopped once again before reaching Wintenberg. I put my head out of the window to look about me, and saw Bauer standing4 near the luggage van. He ran to me eagerly, asking whether I required anything. I told him “nothing”; but instead of going away, he began to talk to me. Growing weary of him, I returned to my seat and waited impatiently for the train to go on. There was a further delay of five minutes, and then we started.
“Thank goodness!” I exclaimed, leaning back comfortably in my seat and taking a cigar from my case.
But in a moment the cigar rolled unheeded on to the floor, as I sprang eagerly to my feet and darted16 to the window. For just as we were clearing the station, I saw being carried past the carriage, on the shoulders of a porter, a bag which looked very much like mine. Bauer had been in charge of my bag, and it had been put in the van under his directions. It seemed unlikely that it should be taken out now by any mistake. Yet the bag I saw was very like the bag I owned. But I was not sure, and could have done nothing had I been sure. We were not to stop again before Wintenberg, and, with my luggage or without it, I myself must be in the town that evening.
We arrived punctual to our appointed time. I sat in the carriage a moment or two, expecting Bauer to open the door and relieve me of my small baggage. He did not come, so I got out. It seemed that I had few fellow-passengers, and these were quickly disappearing on foot or in carriages and carts that waited outside the station. I stood looking for my servant and my luggage. The evening was mild; I was encumbered18 with my hand-bag and a heavy fur coat. There were no signs either of Bauer or of baggage. I stayed where I was for five or six minutes. The guard of the train had disappeared, but presently I observed the station-master; he seemed to be taking a last glance round the premises19. Going up to him I asked whether he had seen my servant; he could give me no news of him. I had no luggage ticket, for mine had been in Bauer’s hands; but I prevailed on him to allow me to look at the baggage which had arrived; my property was not among it. The station-master was inclined, I think, to be a little skeptical20 as to the existence both of bag and of servant. His only suggestion was that the man must have been left behind accidentally. I pointed2 out that in this case he would not have had the bag with him, but that it would have come on in the train. The station-master admitted the force of my argument; he shrugged21 his shoulders and spread his hands out; he was evidently at the end of his resources.
Now, for the first time and with sudden force, a doubt of Bauer’s fidelity22 thrust itself into my mind. I remembered how little I knew of the fellow and how great my charge was. Three rapid movements of my hand assured me that letter, box, and revolver were in their respective places. If Bauer had gone hunting in the bag, he had drawn23 a blank. The station-master noticed nothing; he was stating at the dim gas lamp that hung from the roof. I turned to him.
“Well, tell him when he comes —” I began.
“He won’t come to-night, now,” interrupted the stationmaster, none too politely. “No other train arrives to-night.”
“Tell him when he does come to follow me at once to the Wintenbergerhof. I’m going there immediately.” For time was short, and I did not wish to keep Mr. Rassendyll waiting. Besides, in my new-born nervousness, I was anxious to accomplish my errand as soon as might be. What had become of Bauer? The thought returned, and now with it another, that seemed to connect itself in some subtle way with my present position: why and whither had the Count of Luzau–Rischenheim set out from Strelsau a day before I started on my journey to Wintenberg?
“If he comes I’ll tell him,” said the station-master, and as he spoke25 he looked round the yard.
There was not a cab to be seen! I knew that the station lay on the extreme outskirts26 of the town, for I had passed through Wintenberg on my wedding journey, nearly three years before. The trouble involved in walking, and the further waste of time, put the cap on my irritation27.
“Why don’t you have enough cabs?” I asked angrily.
“There are plenty generally, sir,” he answered more civilly, with an apologetic air. “There would be to-night but for an accident.”
Another accident! This expedition of mine seemed doomed28 to be the sport of chance.
“Just before your train arrived,” he continued, “a local came in. As a rule, hardly anybody comes by it, but to-night a number of men — oh, twenty or five-and-twenty, I should think — got out. I collected their tickets myself, and they all came from the first station on the line. Well, that’s not so strange, for there’s a good beer-garden there. But, curiously29 enough, every one of them hired a separate cab and drove off, laughing and shouting to one another as they went. That’s how it happens that there were only one or two cabs left when your train came in, and they were snapped up at once.”
Taken alone, this occurrence was nothing; but I asked myself whether the conspiracy30 that had robbed me of my servant had deprived me of a vehicle also.
“What sort of men were they?” I asked.
“All sorts of men, sir,” answered the station-master, “but most of them were shabby-looking fellows. I wondered where some of them had got the money for their ride.”
The vague feeling of uneasiness which had already attacked me grew stronger. Although I fought against it, calling myself an old woman and a coward, I must confess to an impulse which almost made me beg the station-master’s company on my walk; but, besides being ashamed to exhibit a timidity apparently31 groundless, I was reluctant to draw attention to myself in any way. I would not for the world have it supposed that I carried anything of value.
“Well, there’s no help for it,” said I, and, buttoning my heavy coat about me, I took my hand-bag and stick in one hand, and asked my way to the hotel. My misfortunes had broken down the station-master’s indifference32, and he directed me in a sympathetic tone.
“Straight along the road, sir,” said he, “between the poplars, for hard on half a mile; then the houses begin, and your hotel is in the first square you come to, on the right.”
I thanked him curtly33 (for I had not quite forgiven him his earlier incivility), and started on my walk, weighed down by my big coat and the handbag. When I left the lighted station yard I realized that the evening had fallen very dark, and the shade of the tall lank24 trees intensified34 the gloom. I could hardly see my way, and went timidly, with frequent stumbles over the uneven35 stones of the road. The lamps were dim, few, and widely separated; so far as company was concerned, I might have been a thousand miles from an inhabited house. In spite of myself, the thought of danger persistently36 assailed37 my mind. I began to review every circumstance of my journey, twisting the trivial into some ominous38 shape, magnifying the significance of everything which might justly seem suspicious, studying in the light of my new apprehensions39 every expression of Bauer’s face and every word that had fallen from his lips. I could not persuade myself into security. I carried the queen’s letter, and — well, I would have given much to have old Sapt or Rudolf Rassendyll by my side.
Now, when a man suspects danger, let him not spend his time in asking whether there be really danger or in upbraiding40 himself for timidity, but let him face his cowardice41, and act as though the danger were real. If I had followed that rule and kept my eyes about me, scanning the sides of the road and the ground in front of my feet, instead of losing myself in a maze42 of reflection, I might have had time to avoid the trap, or at least to get my hand to my revolver and make a fight for it; or, indeed, in the last resort, to destroy what I carried before harm came to it. But my mind was preoccupied43, and the whole thing seemed to happen in a minute. At the very moment that I had declared to myself the vanity of my fears and determined44 to be resolute45 in banishing47 them, I heard voices — a low, strained whispering; I saw two or three figures in the shadow of the poplars by the wayside. An instant later, a dart17 was made at me. While I could fly I would not fight; with a sudden forward plunge48 I eluded49 the men who rushed at me, and started at a run towards the lights of the town and the shapes of the houses, now distant about a quarter of a mile. Perhaps I ran twenty yards, perhaps fifty; I do not know. I heard the steps behind me, quick as my own. Then I fell headlong on the road — tripped up! I understood. They had stretched a rope across my path; as I fell a man bounded up from either side, and I found the rope slack under my body. There I lay on my face; a man knelt on me, others held either hand; my face was pressed into the mud of the road, and I was like to have been stifled50; my hand-bag had whizzed away from me. Then a voice said:
“Turn him over.”
I knew the voice; it was a confirmation51 of the fears which I had lately been at such pains to banish46. It justified52 the forecast of Anton von Strofzin, and explained the wager53 of the Count of Luzau–Rischenheim — for it was Rischenheim’s voice.
They caught hold of me and began to turn me on my back. Here I saw a chance, and with a great heave of my body I flung them from me. For a short instant I was free; my impetuous attack seemed to have startled the enemy; I gathered myself up on my knees. But my advantage was not to last long. Another man, whom I had not seen, sprang suddenly on me like a bullet from a catapult. His fierce onset54 overthrew55 me; I was stretched on the ground again, on my back now, and my throat was clutched viciously in strong fingers. At the same moment my arms were again seized and pinned. The face of the man on my chest bent56 down towards mine, and through the darkness I discerned the features of Rupert of Hentzau. He was panting with the sudden exertion57 and the intense force with which he held me, but he was smiling also; and when he saw by my eyes that I knew him, he laughed softly in triumph. Then came Rischenheim’s voice again.
“Where’s the bag he carried? It may be in the bag.”
“You fool, he’ll have it about him,” said Rupert, scornfully. “Hold him fast while I search.”
On either side my hands were still pinned fast. Rupert’s left hand did not leave my throat, but his free right hand began to dart about me, feeling, probing, and rummaging58. I lay quite helpless and in the bitterness of great consternation59. Rupert found my revolver, drew it out with a gibe60, and handed it to Rischenheim, who was now standing beside him. Then he felt the box, he drew it out, his eyes sparkled. He set his knee hard on my chest, so that I could scarcely breathe; then he ventured to loose my throat, and tore the box open eagerly.
“Bring a light here,” he cried. Another ruffian came with a dark-lantern, whose glow he turned on the box. Rupert opened it, and when he saw what was inside, he laughed again, and stowed it away in his pocket.
“Quick, quick!” urged Rischenheim. “We’ve got what we wanted, and somebody may come at any moment.”
A brief hope comforted me. The loss of the box was a calamity61, but I would pardon fortune if only the letter escaped capture. Rupert might have suspected that I carried some such token as the box, but he could not know of the letter. Would he listen to Rischenheim? No. The Count of Hentzau did things thoroughly62.
“We may as well overhaul63 him a bit more,” said he, and resumed his search. My hope vanished, for now he was bound to come upon the letter.
Another instant brought him to it. He snatched the pocketbook, and, motioning impatiently to the man to hold the lantern nearer, he began to examine the contents. I remember well the look of his face as the fierce white light threw it up against the darkness in its clear pallor and high-bred comeliness64, with its curling lips and scornful eyes. He had the letter now, and a gleam of joy danced in his eyes as he tore it open. A hasty glance showed him what his prize was; then, coolly and deliberately65 he settled himself to read, regarding neither Rischenheim’s nervous hurry nor my desperate, angry glance that glared up at him. He read leisurely66, as though he had been in an armchair in his own house; the lips smiled and curled as he read the last words that the queen had written to her lover. He had indeed come on more than he thought.
Rischenheim laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Quick, Rupert, quick,” he urged again, in a voice full of agitation67.
“Let me alone, man. I haven’t read anything so amusing for a long while,” answered Rupert. Then he burst into a laugh, crying, “Look, look!” and pointing to the foot of the last page of the letter. I was mad with anger; my fury gave me new strength. In his enjoyment68 of what he read Rupert had grown careless; his knee pressed more lightly on me, and as he showed Rischenheim the passage in the letter that caused him so much amusement he turned his head away for an instant. My chance had come. With a sudden movement I displaced him, and with a desperate wrench69 I freed my right hand. Darting70 it out, I snatched at the letter. Rupert, alarmed for his treasure, sprang back and off me. I also sprang up on my feet, hurling71 away the fellow who had gripped my other hand. For a moment I stood facing Rupert; then I darted on him. He was too quick for me; he dodged72 behind the man with the lantern and hurled73 the fellow forward against me. The lantern fell on the ground.
“Give me your stick!” I heard Rupert say. “Where is it? That’s right!”
Then came Rischenheim’s voice again, imploring74 and timid:
“Rupert, you promised not to kill him.”
The only answer was a short, fierce laugh. I hurled away the man who had been thrust into my arms and sprang forward. I saw Rupert of Hentzau; his hand was raised above his head and held a stout75 club. I do not know what followed; there came — all in a confused blur76 of instant sequence — an oath from Rupert, a rush from me, a scuffle, as though some one sought to hold him back; then he was on me; I felt a great thud on my forehead, and I felt nothing more. Again I was on my back, with a terrible pain in my head, and a dull, dreamy consciousness of a knot of men standing over me, talking eagerly to one another.
I could not hear what they were saying; I had no great desire to hear. I fancied, somehow, that they were talking about me; they looked at me and moved their hands towards me now and again. I heard Rupert’s laugh, and saw his club poised77 over me; then Rischenheim caught him by the wrist. I know now that Rischenheim was reminding his cousin that he had promised not to kill me, that Rupert’s oath did not weigh a straw in the scales, but that he was held back only by a doubt whether I alive or my dead body would be more inconvenient78 to dispose of. Yet then I did not understand, but lay there listless. And presently the talking forms seemed to cease their talking; they grew blurred79 and dim, running into one another, and all mingling80 together to form one great shapeless creature that seemed to murmur81 and gibber over me, some such monster as a man sees in his dreams. I hated to see it, and closed my eyes; its murmurings and gibberings haunted my ears for awhile, making me restless and unhappy; then they died away. Their going made me happy; I sighed in contentment; and everything became as though it were not.
Yet I had one more vision, breaking suddenly across my unconsciousness. A bold, rich voice rang out, “By God, I will!”
“No, no,” cried another. Then, “What’s that?” There was a rush of feet, the cries of men who met in anger or excitement, the crack of a shot and of another quickly following, oaths, and scuffling. Then came the sound of feet flying. I could not make it out; I grew weary with the puzzle of it. Would they not be quiet? Quiet was what I wanted. At last they grew quiet; I closed my eyes again. The pain was less now; they were quiet; I could sleep.
When a man looks back on the past, reviewing in his mind the chances Fortune has given and the calls she has made, he always torments82 himself by thinking that he could have done other and better than in fact he did. Even now I lie awake at night sometimes, making clever plans by which I could have thwarted83 Rupert’s schemes. In these musings I am very acute; Anton von Strofzin’s idle talk furnishes me with many a clue, and I draw inferences sure and swift as a detective in the story books. Bauer is my tool, I am not his. I lay Rischenheim by the heels, send Rupert howling off with a ball in his arm, and carry my precious burden in triumph to Mr. Rassendyll. By the time I have played the whole game I am indeed proud of myself. Yet in truth — in daylight truth — I fear that, unless Heaven sent me a fresh set of brains, I should be caught in much the same way again. Though not by that fellow Bauer, I swear! Well, there it was. They had made a fool of me. I lay on the road with a bloody84 head, and Rupert of Hentzau had the queen’s letter.
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1
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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10
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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12
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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13
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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40
upbraiding
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| adj.& n.谴责（的）v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的现在分词 ) | |
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41
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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42
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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44
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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45
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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46
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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banishing
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的现在分词 ) | |
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48
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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49
eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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50
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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51
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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52
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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53
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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54
onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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55
overthrew
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| overthrow的过去式 | |
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56
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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gibe
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| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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overhaul
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| v./n.大修，仔细检查 | |
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comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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