at
the king was dead and could never come to the rescue of his counterfeit?

In fact, the truth was worse than I conceived. Had I known it all, I
might well have yielded to despair. For not by the chance, uncertain
sight of a passer-by, not by mere rumor which might have been sturdily
denied, not by the evidence of one only or of two, was the king's
presence in the city known. That day, by the witness of a crowd of
people, by his own claim and his own voice, ay, and by the assent of
the queen herself, Mr. Rassendyll was taken to be the king in Strelsau,
while neither he nor Queen Flavia knew that the king was dead. I must
now relate the strange and perverse succession of events which forced
them to employ a resource so dangerous and face a peril so immense. Yet,
great and perilous as they knew the risk to be even when they dared
it, in the light of what they did not know it was more fearful and more
fatal still.

CHAPTER X. THE KING IN STRELSAU

MR. RASSENDYLL reached Strelsau from Zenda without accident about nine
o'clock in the evening of the same day as that which witnessed the
tragedy of the hunting-lodge. He could have arrived sooner, but prudence
did not allow him to enter the populous suburbs of the town till the
darkness guarded him from notice. The gates of the city were no longer
shut at sunset, as they had used to be in the days when Duke Michael
was governor, and Rudolf passed them without difficulty. Fortunately the
night, fine where we were, was wet and stormy at Strelsau; thus there
were few people in the streets, and he was able to gain the door of my
house still unremarked. Here, of course, a danger presented itself.
None of my servants were in the secret; only my wife, in whom the queen
herself had confided, knew Rudolf, and she did not expect to see him,
since she was ignorant of the recent course of events. Rudolf was quite
alive to the peril, and regretted the absence of his faithful attendant,
who could have cleared the way for him. The pouring rain gave him an
excuse for twisting a scarf about his face and pulling his coat-collar
up to his ears, while the gusts of wind made the cramming of his hat low
down over his eyes no more than a natural precaution against its loss.
Thus masked from curious eyes, he drew rein before my door, and, having
dismounted, rang the bell. When the butler came a strange hoarse voice,
half-stifled by folds of scarf, asked for the countess, alleging for
pretext a