"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 rummaging. I lay quite
helpless and in the bitterness of great consternation. Rupert
found my revolver, drew it out with a gibe, 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 calamity,
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 thoroughly.

"We may as well overhaul him a bit more," said he, and resumed
his search. My hope vanished, for now he was bound to come upon
the letter.