who has so suddenly turned my enemy is certainly curious. But hesurely cannot be seeking my ruin if he is to marry dear Mary?"
His eye caught the shining brass knobs of the safe door, and he haltedbefore it. If Dubard had really examined those papers he might be awareof the truth! The very thought caused him to hold his breath. But nextinstant, when he reflected upon the morrow, his countenance relaxed intoa bitter smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
CONCERNS A MAN'S DUTY.
The man whose brilliant career had ended, longed to open the safe and tosee whether certain papers it contained had really been disturbed. Buteven if he possessed the key which he had flung into the Arno on thatmemorable night, it could not be opened on account of the piece of wirewhich prevented the lever from working. The truth was thereforewithheld from him.
Sometimes he regarded Mary's story as ridiculous, while at others hewondered whether Dubard had really opened the safe in order toinvestigate. He had been inclined to think that Mary, watching throughthe keyhole as she had done, had not been able to see distinctly, andthat in her limited range of vision had imagined that the safe was beingtampered with. Ricci's words on the telephone were, however, ominous.Apparently Dubard was in some mysterious way taking part in that vileand despicable plot which sought to brand Mary as a traitress equallywith himself.
He turned from the safe and again flung himself into his writing-chair,where he remained a long time with his arms folded, staring straight infront of him.
At last he stirred himself, reached down a sheet of notepaper, andcommenced to write rapidly a letter commencing, "My dear wife." Brieflyand to the point, he explained that he had fallen the victim ofcircumstances, although he had done his best for his king and country,and prayed for her forgiveness.
The next letter he wrote was upon the big official paper headed"Ministro della Guerra: Divisione prima," and with tears in his eyes andhand trembling with emotion he penned his resignation to his sovereign.He sought to make neither explanation nor excuse.
"I have been your Majesty's obedient and trusted servant and the servantof the Italian nation for twenty-one years," he wrote, "and during myterm of office as Minister of War my endeavour has been to improve thecondition of the army and place it upon a level with those of othernations. Your Majesty has been pleased to signify your graciouspleasure at my efforts, and that, in itself, has been for me my highestreward. Circumstances which I could not foresee have, however, soconspired against me and mine that I am unable to remain longer inoffice, and therefore beg of your Majesty to relieve me of the portfolioI have so long held. I have enjoyed your Majesty's marks of favourthrough many years, and I only beg most humbly to express a fervent hopethat justice may be done to me, for, if so, it will be proved that Ihave never abused either my sovereign's confidence nor disgraced thehonour of the Italian people. I pen this resignation with deep andheartfelt regret--the regret of a man whose life has been for hiscountry, and who is taking leave of an office he was proud to hold, andof a high and gratifying position in his sovereign's gracious esteem."
He read and re-read the words he had penned with such difficulty. Suchwas the ignominious end of his brilliant ministerial career! Theresignation would go direct into the hands of His Majesty, yet before itcould reach the Quirinale he would have escaped his enemies.
The third note he wrote was to Mary, a long and tender letter, in whichhe sought her forgiveness and declared himself innocent of the graveoffences with which his enemies were charging him.
"I admit that I have had faults, that I have misappropriated the publicmoney under dire necessity, in order to sustain my position as Minister.Yet it is an open secret that every member of the Cabinet has done thesame. I am no better and no worse than the others. But as regards thesale of our military secrets to France, I am as innocent as I believeyou to be. They may attack you, but do not heed their charges. Marry,be happy, and when you recollect your father, remember him only as onewho has been more sinned against than sinning; one who has been thevictim of a foul conspiracy, ruined and broken by the false andexaggerated charges of adventurers, but also one who, having given hislife for his king and his country, has also forgiven his enemies. Myestates will be sold--confiscated, probably--and you and your motherwill be comparatively poor. Yet you will, at least, have your husbandJules to guard and protect you even though your father has left you. Ineed not speak of my regrets--for they are but vain ones. My reputationhas been undermined, and I have fallen. I must face the inevitable, anddo so with courage, and in the knowledge that you, Mary, my daughter,will forgive me. There are charges--base, false charges--which I cannotrefute. Why should I give my enemies satisfaction by facing them? Icannot hope for justice either at their hands in a court of law or ofthe people themselves, on account of the widespread intrigue to securemy downfall. It is therefore best to turn my back upon them incontempt, and bid you, my beloved child, farewell."
And as his thin, unsteady hand penned those final words in Italian, thehot tears dropped, blurring the writing and blistering the paper--thetears of a man bidding adieu to the one he most cherished--nay, to life.
Having folded the paper and addressed the envelope with the simplewords, "To my daughter Mary," he took from his finger a curious oldEtruscan ring he wore, an ornament that had been found years ago duringthe excavations of the amphitheatre at Fiesole, and imprinting a kissupon it, enclosed it in the envelope for her.
Then he glanced anxiously at his watch. Soon the dread news would bespoken into his ear. He sighed again, his face white and hard set, hispale lips trembling.
He leaned back in his padded chair, and all the past came before him inrapid review. Now he saw clearly how Angelo Borselli had, through allthose years, been his cringing underling and for what object. Thecunning Under-Secretary had squeezed secret commissions out of everyonefor their mutual pecuniary benefit, yet at the same time he was alwayscareful to incriminate the man whose position he was so cleverlyscheming to occupy.
Mary had never liked him. A dozen times had she openly expressed hersuspicion and distrust. But he had been blind--blind to everything. Hewas a man with, few vices himself, and never recognised them in others.Had his wife enjoyed good health she would nowadays have been hishelpmate. But, unfortunately, owing to a carriage accident at Vichyfive years before, her nerves were unstrung, and she was nearly alwaysunder medical treatment.
But there were mysteries connected with the curious conspiracy that hadarisen against him--mysteries which he could not solve.
Had he acted rightly in suggesting to Mary that she should marry JulesDubard? That point sorely troubled him. Ricci's words over thetelephone caused him to reflect deeply. His devotion to his daughterwas complete, and he had suggested marriage with that man because he wasan honourable gentleman of means, and had, during their acquaintance,rendered him certain valuable services in Paris. He looked upon Dubardas a friend of the family, and therefore had been much gratified when hehad asked for Mary's hand. Now, however, in those moments of despair ashe reviewed the past, he recollected his daughter's calm dignity when hehad approached the subject, and how she had accepted the man with aninert disregard, as though she had only done so to obey his wish.
And this man was in active association with his bitterest enemy!
He remembered how at Orton, when the pair had met beneath his roof, theyhad betrayed no desire for each other's company. Indeed, Borselli haddropped a plain hint that Dubard's presence was unwelcome. And yet atthe moment of the crisis they had become warm friends!
Was it possible that the man who only a few days before had asked forMary as his wife could actually be plotting against him in secret? Theidea seemed too absurd, and he dismissed it. Dubard had already shownhimself as his friend, and with that open generosity that had caused hisdownfall, he declined to prejudge him until he received absolute proof.He was shrewd and far-seeing concerning affairs of state, but to his owninterests he was often utterly indifferent.
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He rose again, and for half an hour he paced up and down the marblefloor of the long darkened room. The carriage-bells sounded outside,and as the noise of wheels died away he knew that his wife and the girlshad gone out visiting.
"Mary! Mary!" he cried aloud to himself. "Have I done right? If not,forgive me!"
Of a sudden he thought of what Vito had told him in the club on theprevious day regarding the startling allegation that his daughter hadfurnished information to the man now degraded and imprisoned as atraitor. Why had she begged for his release? That very fact in itselfwent far to prove that the allegation had some foundation in fact. Hesaw how his enemies, not content with attacking him, intended todenounce her as a traitress.
She had declared that Felice Solaro was innocent. Yet if his lastdecree as Minister of War was one of clemency, releasing the accusedman, his action would surely be misconstrued into