"The King will never see the letter," I blurted out, as I sank back in a chair.
They said nothing. I looked round on their faces. I had a strange feeling of helplessness, and seemed to be able to do nothing but throw the truth at them in blunt plainness. Let them make what they could of it, I could make nothing.
"The King will never see the letter," I repeated. "Rupert himself has ensured that."
"What do you mean? You’ve not met Rupert? You've not got the letter?"
"No, no; but the King can never read it."
Then Rudolf seized me by the shoulder and fairly shook me; indeed I must have seemed like a man in a dream or a torpor.
"Why not, man, why not?" he asked in urgent low tones.
Again I looked at them, but somehow this time my eyes were attracted and held by the Queen's face. I believe that she was the first to catch a hint of the tidings I brought. Her lips were parted, and her gaze eagerly strained upon me. I rubbed my hand across my forehead, and looking up stupidly at her I said:
"He can never see the letter. He's dead."
There was a little scream from Helga; Rudolf neither spoke nor moved; the Queen continued to gaze at me in motionless wonder and horror.
