And he was gone to his work and his reward--to save the queen's
letter and to see the queen's face. Thus he went a second time to
Zenda.



CHAPTER IV. AN EDDY ON THE MOAT

On the evening of Thursday, the sixteenth of October, the
Constable of Zenda was very much out of humor; he has since
confessed as much. To risk the peace of a palace for the sake of
a lover's greeting had never been wisdom to his mind, and he had
been sorely impatient with "that fool Fritz's" yearly pilgrimage.
The letter of farewell had been an added folly, pregnant with
chances of disaster. Now disaster, or the danger of it, had come.
The curt, mysterious telegram from Wintenberg, which told him so
little, at least told him that. It ordered him--and he did not
know even whose the order was--to delay Rischenheim's audience,
or, if he could not, to get the king away from Zenda: why he was
to act thus was not disclosed to him. But he knew as well as I
that Rischenheim was completely in Rupert's hands, and he could
not fail to guess that something had gone wrong at Wintenberg,
and that Rischenheim came to tell the king some news that the
king must not hear. His task sounded simple, but it was not easy;
for he did not know where Rischenheim was, and so could not
prevent his coming; besides, the king had been very pleased to
learn of the count's approaching visit, since he desired to talk
with him on the subject of a certain breed of dogs, which the
count bred with great, his Majesty with only indifferent success;