“Open it,” he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. “Take it,” whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. “Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you,” said the man respectfully. “Take it,” whispered Sapt again. “Give it me,” muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. “Open it,” commanded Sapt. “God’s curse on you!” cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. “Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it.” The count began to open it. “If you tear it up, or crumple it, I’ll shoot you,” said Sapt quietly. “You know you can trust my word. Now read it.” “By God, I won’t read it.” “Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers.” The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. “Read,” said the constable. “I don’t understand what it means,” grumbled Rischenheim. “Possibly I may be able to help you.” “It’s nothing but--” “Read, my lord, read!” Then he read, and this was the telegram: “Holf, 19 Konigstrasse.” “A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it’s despatched from?” “Strelsau.” “Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don’t doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It’s as you say. You’re puzzled what it means, Count?” “I don’t know at all what it means!” “How strange! Because I can guess so well.” “You are very acute, sir.” “It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord.” “And pray,” said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, “what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?” “I think, my lord, that the message is an address.” “An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf.” “I don’t think it’s Holf’s address.” “Whose, then?” asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. “Why,” said Sapt, “the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau.” As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. “In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count,” said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN’S SERVANTS