Page:The Prisoner of Zenda.djvu/58

Rh was as red as his hair, and he breathed heavily. Sapt, the disrespectful old dog, kicked him sharply. He did not stir, nor was there any break in his breathing. I saw that his face and head were wet with water, as were mine.

"We've spent half an hour on him," said Fritz.

"He drank three times what either of you did," growled Sapt.

I knelt down and felt his pulse. It was alarmingly languid and slow. We three looked at one another.

"Was it drugged—that last bottle?" I asked in a whisper.

"I don't know," said Sapt.

"We must get a doctor."

"There's none within ten miles, and a thousand doctors wouldn't take him to Strelsau to-day. I know the look of it. He'll not move for six or seven hours yet."

"But the coronation!" I cried in horror. Fritz shrugged his shoulders, as I began to see was his habit on most occasions.

"We must send word that he's ill," he said.