"Rupert killed him," said I. "The boar-hound attacked Rupert; then Herbert and the King attacked him; and he killed them all. Yes, the King is dead. He's dead."
Now none spoke. The Queen's eyes never left my face.
"Yes, he's dead!" said I; and I watched her eyes still. For a long while (or long it seemed) they were on my face; at last, as though drawn by some irresistible force, they turned away. I followed the new line they took. She looked at Rudolf Rassendyll, and he at her. Helga had taken out her handkerchief, and, utterly upset by the horror and shock, was lying back in a low chair, sobbing half-hysterically; I saw the swift look that passed from the Queen to her lover, carrying in it grief, remorse, and most unwilling joy. He did not speak to her, but put out his hand and took hers. She drew it away almost sharply, and covered her face with both hands. Rudolf turned to me.
"When was it?"
"Last night."
"And the … He's at the lodge?"
"Yes, with Sapt and James."
I was recovering my senses and my coolness.
"Nobody knows yet," I said. "We were afraid you might be taken for him by somebody. But, my God, Rudolf, what's to be done now?"
