From that moment, you may be sure, I was all ears.
"It’s this way. My room’s next door here, but we’re some way from the Emperor’s quarters. Our corridor leads to the main part of the house, which is like so many of these royal places, one room opening on to another and then another, and so on. But then there’s another passage to the Emperor’s rooms—an ante-room where his orderly sleeps, and then the royal bedchamber over-lookin' the sundial garden. There’s a room off the passage for the aides—ah, you’ve met ’em, couple of society buffoons. So that’s the lie o' the land."
He paused to light another whiff. "You see the point—there are only two ways to come at Franz-Josef; either by the secret stair or along the passage leadin' past the aides' room to his quarters. Plug those, and he’s secure. Now," says he, leaning close, "I’ll lay odds the Holnup will come through the garden in the dead watch, around four, lay out the sentry quietly, jemmy the door, then upstairs and good-night Franz-Josef, all hail Crown Prince Rudolf ! But, just in case they enter the house some other way, one of us will lurk by the passage, while t’other is in the garden, coverin' the secret doorway. You follow?"
I followed, and relief was surging through me like the wave of the sea as he went on.
"You at the passage … et moi in the garden. No, shut up, Harry—it must be so because once the smoke has cleared and the Holnup are laid stiff and stark, I can say I couldn’t sleep and was just takin' a stroll and ran into ’em, see? That wouldn’t answer for you, with your game leg. Whereas if you’re watchin' the passage inside, and someone happens along, you can always say you were lookin' for the thunder-closet."
"That means," says I frowning, "that you’ll tackle ’em alone—one against perhaps three, perhaps more."
"No more than three, if so many," says he, baring his teeth. "Never fear, Harry, they’re dead men." His hands moved like lightning, and there was the Webley in one fist and the Derringer in t’other. "With all respect, old fellow, I doubt if you’re as quick with a piece as I, or as good a shot."
"Don’t know about that," says I, looking glum while repressing an urge to sing Hallelujah. "How many night ambushes have you laid?"
"Enough," says he jauntily. "Cheer up—perhaps they’ll come through the house after all!"
"And afterwards—how d’you explain that you went for a night stroll with a gun in your pocket?"
"I didn’t. Discoverin' miscreants tryin' to break in with evil intent, I gamely tackled ’em, disarmed one, and … Bob’s your uncle, as they say."
"I still don’t like it," I lied. "We’d be better with two in the garden—"
"No," says he flatly. "One must be in the house … you. When you hear a shot, make for your room, and then emerge hobblin' and roarin' for enlightenment—"
"When I hear a shot, I’ll be out o' doors before you know it. You may be good, Starnberg, but I’ve forgotten more about night fighting than you’ll ever know. And that, my son, is that." It’s always been second nature with me to act sullen-reluctant when I’ve been denied the prospect of battle and murder; suits my character, you see. In the event that he had to tackle the Holnup alone, the last thing I’d dream of doing would be to hasten to his aid; back to bed and snug down deaf as a post, that would be the ticket for Flashy, and he could have the glory to himself—which, I realised, was what he’d intended all along; I’d been necessary for gaining admittance, and all the rest had been so much gas. Well, good luck, Willem, and I hope you kill a lot of Hungarians.
In the meantime I looked sour, vowing to be in at the death, and he laughed and said, well, so be it, my presence in the garden with my game leg might seem odd, but with the Emperor preserved no one would think twice about it, likely. Then he took a big breath and sat back, delighted with himself and his planning, and fell to admiring Bismarck’s uncanny genius, and how it was all falling out precisely as he had forecast. But mostly he was nursing his blood lust, I knew, anticipating the pleasure of shooting assassins—in the back, no doubt. He was what Hickok called "a killing gentleman", was our Willem. Just like dear old dad.
Dinner at five with Franz-Josef would have been a dam' dreary business, no doubt, if I hadn’t been so full of inward rejoicing at my reprieve, and consequently at peace with all mankind. I made my appearance limping on a stick, and his majesty combined his congratulations with a dour warning against over-exertion. He was one of these unfortunates who have been created stuffy by God, and whose efforts to unbend create discomfort and unease in all concerned, chiefly himself. It reminded me of a pompous master condescending to the fags; even when he had the words he couldn’t get the tune at all.
For example, when he informed me over the soup that he had only poor command of English, he managed to convey that the fault lay not only with his boyhood tutors, but with me for speaking the dam' language in the first place; even his compliment to my German sounded like a reproach. I responded with a wheeze I’d once heard (from Bismarck, as it happens) that a gift for languages was useful only to head-waiters, and Willem played up by saying he’d been told that it was a sign of low intelligence. Franz-Josef rolled a bread-pill gloomily and said that wasn’t what his tutors had told him, and he had no experience of head-waiters. After this flying start we ate in silence until Franz-Josef began to question me solemnly about Indian Army camp discipline and sanitary arrangements, with particular reference to care of the feet in hot climates. I did my best, and like a fool ventured Wellington’s joke when the Queen asked him what was the aroma from the ranks of the Guards, and Nosey replied: "Esprit de corps, ma’am." That was met with a vacant stare, so I guessed he didn’t speak French too well either.
The only topics that seemed to bring him to life were horses and game-shooting. He knew his business about the former, and was, I’m told, an expert rider; as for the latter, about which he prosed interminably, I can say only that my abiding memory of Ischl lodge is of rank upon rank of chamois horns covering the walls from floor to ceiling, wherever you went, all shot by the royal sportsman. There must have been thousands of them.[18]
After dinner the real merriment began when we played a game of tarok, a sort of whist, and I can testify that to his linguistic shortcomings the Austrian Emperor added an inability to count, and pondered each card at length before playing it. I guess the fun was too much for him, for after a couple of rubbers he went back to work at his desk, and we were free to return to our rooms … and wait.
I can’t recall many nights longer than that one. Even though I’d been excused active service, so to speak (assuming the enemy didn’t come through the house) I was like a cat on hot bricks, and Willem was no better. We played every two-handed game we knew in my room, and he was too edgy to cheat, even. About eight o’clock an orderly brought us tea, when what I needed was brandy, about a pint and a half, and we learned that the Emperor was used to retire to bed about nine, and the establishment closed down accordingly. Sure enough, we heard the tramp of the sergeant and sentry beneath the window, marching round the house, and distant words of command as the sentry was posted.
"Damned old martinet!" mutters Willem, as we heard the heavy tread of the sergeant’s return, fading as he went round to the guard-house at the front. "Imagine barkin' orders as if it were a parade. I suppose it’s for Franz-Josef’s benefit as he says his prayers. The sentry’s relieved every three hours, by the way, and you may be sure the Holnup know that, so between three and six will be their best time. We’ll be on the watch from ten, though; they’d hardly come before that."
The place is like a tomb. What price Ischl for high jinks, eh? I’d rather have Stockholm on a Sunday! Now, I’ll take you along to your post, which is in the last of the day-rooms from which the passage runs to the Emperor’s billet and the aides' quarters. There’s a nice shadowy corner where you can watch the passage entry, and on t’other side of the room there’s a flight of stairs leading down to a little hall, where I’ll get out by a window." He paused, thinking. "If they come tonight, as I feel they will, you’d best use your judgment when the shootin' starts. A few quick shots will mean it’s all over; if there’s still firin' after twenty seconds … well, ’twill mean there are more of ’em than I bargain for. If they don’t come, back to bed with you when the house begins to stir. I’ll be out takin' the morning air," he added, with a wink. "All clear, then'? All serene-o?"