Part 39 (1/2)

”But why? I cannot see the motive, and yet he must have had one!”

”In his own interests, as well as those of the Englishman.”

”You mean Macbean?”

”Yes--the betrayer!”

Mary's heart beat quickly. She could not grasp his meaning, yet he refused to tell her plainly the whole of the strange circ.u.mstances, apparently fearing to give her pain because she had declared herself to be a friend of the Englishman. He was, of course, in ignorance of their friends.h.i.+p, just as he was in ignorance of her engagement to Jules Dubard.

She was in a dilemma--a dilemma absolute and complete. What Borselli had declared--namely, that the unfortunate captain was in possession of some facts which he would prove if he regained his liberty--seemed to be the truth. Yet if she secured his liberty by pressing her father to pardon him, she would only be deliberately giving to his political enemies a weapon whereby they might hound him from office. While, further, he refused to make her a direct promise to tell the truth, or make the revelations--even if liberated.

What could she do? How could she act? His allegations held her amazed, speechless. He had declared himself to be the victim of the ingenious conspiracy formed by the Frenchman and by George Macbean--the latter, of all men! The whole affair was an enigma that was inexplicable.

That Macbean had entered into a plot against him was utterly beyond her comprehension. He was essentially a Londoner, and had surely no interest whatsoever in the Alpine defences of Italy! Dubard was certainly his friend. Had he not, indeed, told her so? He had, only a fortnight before, expressed a hope that Dubard would soon return from the Pyrenees.

And yet that broken, desperate man--the man with whom she had had that pleasant flirtation during one Roman season--had fallen their victim!

But if so, why was Borselli now anxious that he should be freed in order to make his revelations against the very man Dubard who was his intimate friend--the man who it was said had furnished the Opposition with facts--most of them false--regarding her father's political shortcomings?

She tried to reason it all out, but became the more and more utterly bewildered.

The reason of the captain's denunciation of George Macbean was a mystery. When he mentioned the Englishman's name she had noticed a flash in his deep-set eyes betokening a deadly, deep-rooted hatred. And yet it was upon this very man that all her thoughts and reflections had of late been centred.

As they were alone in that grim, gloomy room with its barred part.i.tion-- the governor having granted them a private conference--she explained how the Socialists had endeavoured to make capital out of the charges against him with a view to obtaining her father's dismissal from office.

She made no mention of her compact with Dubard or her engagement to him, but merely explained how at the eleventh hour, while Montebruno was on his feet in the Chamber of Deputies, the mysterious note had been placed in his hand which had had the effect of arresting the charges he was about to pour forth.

Solaro listened to her in silence while she gave a description of the scene in the Chamber, and related certain details of the conspiracy which she had learned through her father, the details gathered in secret by Vito Ricci.

”Ah?” he sighed at last, having listened open-mouthed. ”It is exactly as I expected. Your father's enemies are mine. Having drawn me safely into their net, they intend to use my condemnation as proof of the insecurity of the frontier and the culpability of the Minister of War.”

”But if they attack the Minister they must attack me personally?”

exclaimed the general in surprise; for he had been in ignorance of the widespread intrigue to hold the Ministry of War up to public ridicule and condemnation. ”As the frontier is under my command, I am personally responsible for its security?”

”Exactly,” Solaro said in a somewhat quieter tone. ”If His Excellency had ordered a revision of my trial, I should most certainly have been proved innocent, and that being so, the Socialists would have had no direct charge which they could level against the Ministry. But as it is, I stand here condemned, imprisoned as a traitor, and therefore my general is culpable, and above him the Minister himself.”

”My father should have pardoned you long ago. It is infamous!” Mary declared, with rising anger. ”By refusing your appeal for a new trial he placed himself in this position of peril!”

”Had I been released I would have given into his hands certain information by which he could have crushed the infamous intrigue against him,” said the man behind the bars in a low, desperate tone. ”But now it is too late for a revision of my sentence. Our enemies have triumphed. I am to be sent to Gorgona, sent to my death, while the plot against His Excellency still exists, and the _coup_ will be made against him at the very moment when he feels himself the most secure.” Then, watching the pale face, he added suddenly, ”Forgive me, signorina, for speaking frankly like this; he is, I recollect, your father. But he has done me a grave injustice; he could have saved me--saved himself--if he had cared to do so.”

”But you have said that my father fears to give you your liberty?” She remarked. ”If that is so, it is fear, and not disinclination, that has prevented him granting you a pardon?”

”It is both,” he declared hoa.r.s.ely.

”But is there no one else who could a.s.sist you--who would expose these enemies and their plot?” she asked.

”No one,” he answered. ”The most elaborate preparations were made to set the trap into which I unfortunately fell. I was watched in Paris, in Bologna, in Turin--in garrison and out of it. My every movement was noted, in order that it might be misconstrued. That Frenchman who struck up an acquaintance with me in Paris, and who afterwards lent me money, was in the pay of my enemies; and from that all the d.a.m.ning evidence against me was constructed with an ingenuity that was fiendish.

I, an innocent man, was condemned without being given any opportunity of proving my defence! Ask Dubard, or the Englishman. Ask them to tell the truth--if they dare!”

”But tell me more of Mr Macbean,” she cried eagerly. ”What do you allege against him?”