sometimes, making clever plans by which I could have thwarted
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 bloody head, and
Rupert of Hentzau had the queen's letter.



CHAPTER III. AGAIN TO ZENDA

By Heaven's care, or--since a man may be over-apt to arrogate to
himself great share of such attention--by good luck, I had not to
trust for my life to the slender thread of an oath sworn by
Rupert of Hentzau. The visions of my dazed brain were
transmutations of reality; the scuffle, the rush, the retreat
were not all dream.

There is an honest fellow now living in Wintenberg comfortably
and at his ease by reason that his wagon chanced to come
lumbering along with three or four stout lads in it at the moment
when Rupert was meditating a second and murderous blow. Seeing
the group of us, the good carrier and his lads leapt down and