Part 40 (1/2)
”The oath would have been more natural,” I said, promptly. ”But since you are shaking off some of your chagrin, you may be ready to listen to me. I have something to say--to propose.”
”I ought not to listen to you.”
”There is time--until the police come, at any rate. I will confess to one crime--forgery. I wrote that letter to you in Madame d'Artelle's name. I wished to bring you here at once; and I prepared, carefully, this little stage effect for your benefit. Shall I tell you why?”
He waved his hand to imply indifference.
”No, you are not indifferent, Count Gustav. I wished you to understand how really dangerous I am to you--as well as to witness your brotherly grief at seeing Count Karl's dead body”--and I touched the sofa pillow.
He was able to smile now with less effort, and his lip curled contemptuously.
”I am dangerous--although I can jest. Your brother is safe, quite safe, where you will not think to look for him. I knew what you purposed to do, and I alone prevented it. You don't believe me. I will give you proofs. Two days ago when we were at Madame's house you went to Colonel Katona to tell him I was too indisposed to see him, and you came and told me you had said that. You did not say that. On the contrary you told him I would send him the information he needed of the ident.i.ty of the man who had wronged Gareth.”
”It is an easy tale,” he said, with a shrug.
”Yes, easier than you frequently find it to tell the truth. You yourself sent in my name the proofs which the Colonel needed--one of the letters which Gareth--little, trusting Gareth,--had written to you, believing you to be your brother--Karl, Count von Ostelen.”
”It is false.”
”I have the letter;” and I held it up before him.
I got right home with that blow, and all the malignant cruelty in him was expressed in his eyes as he made a quick but futile attempt to s.n.a.t.c.h it from me.
”It is only another of your forgeries,” he said.
”Gareth will not deny it;” and at that he winced. ”You did not name your brother--that was too open a course for you--but you told Colonel Katona that the man was going to run away with another woman; and you named the hour and the place where he might be seen--last night in the Radialstra.s.se at nine o'clock--and that they were coming to this house--'Unter den Linden.' Do you still say it is false?”
He made no reply, but sat with a scowl tugging at his long fair moustache.
”When you led your brother to the carriage last night, you looked about you to make sure that the Colonel was there; and as the carriage started, he spoke to you and asked if the man he had seen you put in the carriage was indeed your brother Karl.”
He shrugged his shoulders again. ”You may as well go on.”
”I am going on. Fearing lest, even at the last moment, the plan should miscarry, you came here yourself; and yourself, finding your brother lying nearly unconscious on the couch, opened the window so that the watcher in the garden might see where his helpless victim lay; and then--you left the window open to make his entrance easy and certain.”
”You tell a story well,” he said, when I paused. ”I told you once before you should write plays. You have admirable imagination.” He was quite himself again now. He spoke lightly, lit a cigar, and took a couple of turns across the room.
”It appears to have interested you.”
”Naturally. I suppose now I can pick up the rest from what you said before?”
”Yes. The sofa pillow has done duty before.”
”A very likely tale, of course--and your witnesses?”
”No one knows all this except myself.”
”Very fortunate--for them, if not perhaps for you.”
”There is nothing fortunate or unfortunate in it. It is the result of my intention. I alone hold the secret, and can make terms with you for keeping it.”