"You weren't so wrong as you thought, were you?"
"But surely Sapt, or Bernenstein, or some one was with him?"
"As I tell you, his forester and his boar-hound. No other man or beast, on my honour."
"Then you gave him the letter?" cried Rischenheim, trembling with excitement.
"Alas, no, my dear cousin. I threw the box at him, but I don't think he had time to open it. We didn't get to that stage of the conversation at which I had intended to produce the letter."
"But why not—why not?"
Rupert rose to his feet, and, coming just opposite to where Rischenheim sat, balanced himself on his heels and looked down at his cousin, blowing the ash from his cigarette and smiling pleasantly.
"Have you noticed," he asked, "that my coat's torn?"
"I see it is."
"Yes. The boar-hound tried to bite me, cousin. And the forester would have stabbed me. And—well, the King wanted to shoot me."
"Yes, yes! For God's sake what happened?"
"Well, they none of them did what they wanted. That's what happened, dear cousin."
