Rome.Although I was absent, I knew quite well that you were in her father'sservice; but believe me, I was in no manner anxious, first because ofyour menial position--a mere secretary--and secondly, because of thepast."
"The past!" cried Macbean. "The past! Surely you ought not to speak ofthe past--you, to whom the family of Morini, the father of the innocentwoman you have schemed to marry, owes the peril in which he now exists.You shall never marry her!" he added angrily. "Never!"
There was a brief silence, then Dubard responded with a defiant laugh.
"You cannot prevent it, my friend."
"But I will."
"And expose yourself?"
"I shall at least expose a man who has marked down a pure and innocentwoman as his victim."
Dubard laughed again, saying--
"Of course. You've fallen in love with her, and are jealous that sheshould become my wife!"
"I am her friend," he declared. "And I will protect her."
"And allow the charges to be made against her father."
"They will be brought whether you marry her or not--you know that quitewell. I have not been private secretary to Morini without discoveringthe insecurity of his official position, and the deadly rivalry andcrafty cunning of Angelo Borselli. Again, answer me one question--whyis Felice Solaro, your friend, condemned as a traitor?"
"He doesn't concern me in the least," was the other's reply.
"But the matter concerns me," Macbean went on. "Recollect howstudiously you have avoided me ever since August, when I recognised youdriving over in that road yonder--when an evil fate threw me againacross your path."
"You appear, then, to believe that I am in fear of you?" he said. "Butlet me tell you that I have no such anxiety whatsoever. Try and preventmy marriage--but recollect it will be at your own peril?"
George knew well at what his enemy had hinted--he knew too well that ifhe uttered one word it would bring upon him a deadly peril--that hewould be hurled to ruin and disgrace. Nevertheless, he was determinedto sacrifice himself rather than all that he held most dear should besnatched away from him by that man whose very existence and position wasan adventure and a fraud.
But feeing the Frenchman determinedly, he said--
"The reason I invited you out here was to tell you frankly my intention,and so allow you opportunity to leave the place before the truth isknown. I intend to go to-morrow to the Minister and tell him exactlythe true state of affairs. He is in utter ignorance that it was you whostayed the adverse tide against him in the Chamber of Deputies--inignorance that you made that vile, despicable agreement with his poorunfortunate daughter. When I have spoken we shall see whether he willallow the marriage to take place."
"And when you have spoken we shall also see whether he will not hear myown story."
"I am prepared for any allegation you may make against me," respondedGeorge. "You may ruin me--you may do what you and your friends will--but you shall never marry Mary Morini!"
"I defy you!"
"Very well--we shall see."
"Tell the Minister what you choose, but remember that if you endeavourto create friction between us, I will show you no mercy," he criedbetween his teeth. "Until now I have been silent, but--"
"You've been silent because you know too well that you fear to speak--you fear to make any allegations against me. I know rather too much!"declared the Englishman, with confidence.
"Much or little, it does not concern me in the least," replied theforeigner. "You create unpleasantness, and _eh bien_! I do the same."
"Then you actually intend that that desperate woman, in deadly fear ofher father's ruin, shall become your wife?"
"I do."
"Then I tell you, Dubard," he cried, "that I will not allow it! I willnever allow it. I will tell the truth, and bear the consequences."
"The consequences!" exclaimed the Frenchman in a deep, serious voice,his teeth hard set in anger which he strove to suppress, but whichnevertheless rose by reason of his quick foreign nature. "Theconsequences! Have you realised them all? You seem to have a shortmemory, my dear friend--and a short memory is often convenient. Shall Irefresh it for you?" he asked, as the man before him clutched at thewooden rail of the stile for support, although striving valiantly topreserve a defiant calm. "Shall I recall to you the memory of thosesunny winter days when your employer Morgan-Mason took you with him tothe Villa Puget at Mentone, when he was the guest of his brother-in-law,General Felix Sazarac? Shall--"
"I know! I know!" cried the young Englishman. "I know all--why shouldyou recall all that?"
"To refresh your memory, my dear friend," responded Dubard, withwithering sarcasm. "Do you recollect how that we were friends in thosedays--you, Felice Solaro, and myself? Solaro and I were at the HotelNational, and you were given a room at the villa by your employer'shostess, his elder sister, Madame Sazarac--who had married the general.Do you not remember these days, spent at Monte Carlo, or up at LaTurbie, our luncheons, our dinners at the Paris, and our little games atthe tables? Oh yes, you had a merry time then--we all had--even thepoor general himself. And then--"
"Stop!" Macbean implored, raising both his hands. "Enough!--I know!Heavens!--as though I could ever forget!"
"But you have forgotten, it seems, or you--of all persons--would neverseek to come between me and the woman I am to marry. Therefore hearme--once and for all. And when you have heard, reflect well before youadopt a course which must inevitably reflect upon yourself--nay more,which must cause your own ruin. Do you recollect how your employerMorgan-Mason had gone alone to Marseilles to meet his Indian manager whowas returning to England, and how you, being alone, the general ofteninvited you to ride with him up the Corniche road, and sometimes intothe mountains? He was fond of the English because his wife was English,and he had taken a great fancy to you. Being in command of the Alpinefrontier defences in France, he had often to make inspections of thosehigh-up fortresses that guard the passes into Italy, and one day heinvited you to ride with him away up to the fortress of Saint MartinLantosque that overlooks Monte Malto."
"I will not hear you!" cried Macbean hoarsely. "Enough! Enough!"
But the Frenchman continued in the same quiet, hard, meaning tone, hisvoice sounding clear in the quiet of night.
"With Solaro I chanced to call at the villa just as your horses werebrought round, and we stood upon the steps and saw you mount. You wavedyour hand triumphantly to us, and trotted away at the side of the manwho held the south-east frontier of France under his command. Do yourecollect, as you rode down the drive bordered by its flowering azaleas,how you turned and looked back at us, in wonder whether we suspectedyour intentions? Perhaps not--the truth remains the same," he added,his face now closer to that of the man against whom he was making thatwithering accusation. "You rode nearly twenty miles into the mountains,and were high up above the Vesubie, in a wild, solitary district devoidof any human habitation, when, it being hot, you offered yourbrandy-flask to the general, who was without one--for you yourself hadsurreptitiously taken it from his holster prior to setting out. Beingthirsty, he took a long drink. Half an hour later he felt ill, anddismounted. And in an hour the poor fellow was dead!"
George Macbean stood still, gripping the moss-grown rail, glaring at hisaccuser, though no word escaped his lips.
"The cognac you gave to the general was never suspected by the doctors,who declared the fatality to be due to an internal malady from which hehad long suffered, and which was known might cause sudden death. Thegallant officer was buried with military honours in Nice, and none wereaware of the truth save Solaro and I. We knew that a sum of money whichthe general had upon him had been stolen, and further, that the brandyyou had given him you had not dared to drink yourself. In secret, wecharged you with the general's murder, for the sake of the money uponhim; but you defied us, and made a gallant fight to brave it out. Butit was useless. Solaro declared that you had concealed the money,whereupon you offered to allow us to se
arch your possessions, and wefound a draft on the Credit Lyonnais in the flap of your writing-case.You offered to allow us to seal, before your eyes, the brandy in thebottle in your room, together with that remaining in your flask, and wesent it to be analysed by an analyst in Paris whom you yourself named.You hoped to mislead us, to disarm our suspicions by allowing us to makeall the inquiries we, as friends of the general, thought fit! Ah! thatwas a fatal mistake, my friend! You condemned yourself. The analyst'sreport does not lie. I still have it here, in my pocket-book, and doyou know what it says? It states that the contents of both bottle andthe flask filled from it were submitted to the