The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope

Antoinette de Mauban shrieked, but I rose to my feet, laughing aloud.
    De Gautet and Bersonin lay like men stunned. Detchard was under the table, but, as I rose, he pushed it from him and fired again. I raised my revolver and took a snap shot; I heard him curse, and then I ran like a hare, laughing as I went, past the summer-house and along by the wall. I heard steps behind me, and turning round I fired again for luck. The steps ceased.
    â€œPlease God,” said I, “she told me the truth about the ladder!” for the wall was high and topped with iron spikes.
    Yes, there it was. I was up and over in a minute. Doubling back, I saw the horses; then I heard a shot. It was Sapt. He had heard us, and was battling and raging with the locked gate, hammering it and firing into the keyhole like a man possessed. He had quite forgotten that he was not to take part in the fight. Whereat I laughed again, and said, as I clapped him on the shoulder:
    â€œCome home to bed, old chap. I’ve got the finest tea-table story that ever you heard!”
    He started and cried: “You’re safe!” and wrung my hand. But a moment later he added:
    â€œAnd what the devil are you laughing at?”
    â€œFour gentlemen round a tea-table,” said I, laughing still, for it had been uncommonly ludicrous to see the formidable three altogether routed and scattered with no more deadly weapon than an ordinary tea-table.
    Moreover, you will observe that I had honourably kept my word, and not fired till they did.

CHAPTER 10
A Great Chance for a Villain
    It was the custom that the Prefect of Police should send every afternoon a report to me on the condition of the capital and the feeling of the people: the document included also an account of the movements of any persons whom the police had received instructions to watch. Since I had been in Strelsau, Sapt had been in the habit of reading the report and telling me any items of interest which it might contain. On the day after my adventure in the summer-house, he came in as I was playing a hand of
ecarte
with Fritz von Tarlenheim.
    â€œThe report is rather full of interest this afternoon,” he observed, sitting down.
    â€œDo you find,” I asked, “any mention of a certain fracas?”
    He shook his head with a smile.
    â€œI find this first,” he said: “‘His Highness the Duke of Strelsau left the city (so far as it appears, suddenly), accompanied by several of his household. His destination is believed to be the Castle of Zenda, but the party travelled by road and not by train. MM De Gautet, Bersonin, and Detchard followed an hour later, the last-named carrying his arm in a sling. The cause of his wound is not known, but it is suspected that he has fought a duel, probably incidental to a love affair.’”
    â€œThat is remotely true,” I observed, very well pleased to find that I had left my mark on the fellow.
    â€œThen we come to this,” pursued Sapt: “‘Madame de Mauban, whose movements have been watched according to instructions, left by train at midday. She took a ticket for Dresden—’”
    â€œIt’s an old habit of hers,” said I.
    â€œâ€˜The Dresden train stops at Zenda.’ An acute fellow, this. And finally listen to this: ‘The state of feeling in the city is not satisfactory. The King is much criticized’ (you know, he’s told to be quite frank) ‘for taking no steps about his marriage. From enquiries among the entourage of the Princess Flavia, her Royal Highness is believed to be deeply offended by the remissness of his Majesty. The common people are coupling her name with that of the Duke of Strelsau, and the duke gains much popularity from the suggestion.’ I have caused the announcement that the King gives a ball tonight in honour of the princess to be widely diffused, and the effect is good.”
    â€œThat is news to me,” said I.
    â€œOh, the