more than Rudolf Rassendyll. I remarked on it in a joking tone.
"You'll be lucky," observed Sapt grimly, "if you're not the late Rudolf Rassendyll. By Heaven! I feel my head wobbling on my shoulders every minute you're in the city. Do you know, friend, that Michael has had news from Zenda? He went into a room alone to read it—and he came out looking like a man dazed."
"I'm ready," said I, this news making me none the more eager to linger.
Sapt sat down.
"I must write us an order to leave the city. Michael's governor, you know, and we must be prepared for hindrances. You must sign the order."
"My dear colonel, I've not been bred a forger!"
Out of his pocket Sapt produced a piece of paper.
"There's the king's signature," he said, "and here," he went on, after another search in his pocket, "is some tracing paper. If you can't manage a 'Rudolf' in ten minutes, why—I can."
