Part 43 (1/2)
”And then?” asked Morini almost involuntarily, as he stood listening to the story.
”I was not thirsty myself, so I put the flask back into the holster, and we rode on again, laughing together and enjoying the glorious panorama at our feet. Half an hour later, however, my companion complained of queer pains in his head and giddiness, which he attributed to the sun, and pulling up he dismounted. We were then in a lonely spot in a district utterly unknown to me. The general grew worse, being seized by strange cramping pains in the stomach and a curious twitching of the face. I gave him some water from a spring close by, and bathed his head, but he grew worse, and seemed to lapse into a state of coma.
Suddenly he opened his eyes, and motioning to me that he wished to speak, he gasped faintly, `Tell them I did it because those Jews were pressing me--I regret it--regret--but it is useless!' Then after a pause he managed to articulate, `My wife!--my dear wife--my love to her, M'sieur Macbean--my love to her--I--I'--Then his jaw dropped, and I found him dead upon my arm! This fatal seizure appalled me. I shouted, but no one heard. I was miles and miles from civilisation in the centre of the wildest district of the Alps, therefore I covered the dead man's face with his handkerchief, tethered his horse, and rode back ten miles or so to a little village we had pa.s.sed. The general was brought back to Mentone that night, and at the Villa Puget the scene was a sad and tragic one. I gave poor madame her husband's dying message, but his words about the Jews puzzled her. She could not understand them in the least. It was a mystery.”
”They were words invented by you,” declared Dubard in a hard tone.
”Tell these gentlemen the truth! It was you who gave the poor fellow the cognac--you who poisoned him!”
”I gave him the brandy, I admit,” exclaimed Macbean quickly, ”but I swear I was unaware that it was poisoned!”
”You filled it from the bottle in your room. Now you have gone so far, tell the whole truth.”
”I am not afraid,” Macbean went on boldly. ”On the night when the body of the general was brought home you came with Solaro to my room, locked the door, and charged me with administering poison--although three doctors had seen him, and as they had all previously treated him for a malady which they knew might terminate fatally on too violent exercise, they had decided that no post-mortem examination was necessary. Your allegation astounded me, but you asked for the key of the cupboard wherein I kept the bottle of brandy. There was some remaining, as well as the remains of that mixed with water in the flask. As I denied that I had poisoned him you both urged that, in satisfaction, I should seal both bottle and flask and submit them to some a.n.a.lyst in Paris. This I willingly did, entirely unsuspecting any plot. I packed them in a box, and myself saw them despatched.”
”And the a.n.a.lyst's report is here!” exclaimed Dubard, waving the paper triumphantly before the speaker's eyes. ”It proves that you deliberately poisoned General Sazarac, while Solaro, if he were here, could prove further that he found in your writing-case the draft which you stole from the dead man's pocket?”
”I know only too well the circ.u.mstantial evidence that was against me,”
said Macbean, addressing Morini. ”I had been the victim of a clever and ingenious plot in which the unfortunate officer had lost his life. But why? There seemed no motive whatever. I returned to England a suspected man, and from that day I did not come face to face with Dubard until I recognised him last year driving on the Rugby road, and heard to my amazement that he was engaged to your daughter Mary. Ever since then I have desired to re-encounter this man, and to clear myself of the terrible charge he brings against me.”
”And how do you propose to do that?” inquired His Excellency, astonished at the entirely new complexion placed upon that tragic affair which had caused him so much mental anxiety and so many sleepless nights.
”I can only declare my complete innocence. I was, no doubt, the agent who administered the fatal cognac, but I certainly was ignorant of it, and would never have poisoned the man who had showed me so many kindnesses.”
”Then I think it is only in the interests of justice if this report of the a.n.a.lyst is given into the hands of the Paris police,” remarked the Sicilian, who had remained silent, but whose active mind nevertheless had been at work to discern some means of effectually closing Macbean's mouth.
The young Englishman started. He had not expected such a suggestion.
He foresaw the difficulty of proving his innocence when such witnesses as Solaro and Dubard were against him.
”For the present, we will leave that aside,” said the Minister, in as quiet a voice as he could. ”My first duty, as father of my child, is to investigate this allegation of Macbean's,” and he touched the bell. To the man who answered his summons he said in English in a determined tone--
”Ask Miss Mary to kindly step down here for one moment. I desire to see her without a minute's delay. Say that I have some urgent news for her.”
”Very good, your Excellency.” And the door was closed again.
Dubard and Borselli exchanged uneasy glances; but a dead silence had fallen between the four men--a silence that was broken by the sound of wheels out on the gravelled drive. There were lots of coming and going in that bustling day, wedding guests arriving, and the bride's luggage being despatched, so as to meet her in London before they left for Paris on the following morning.
The pause was painful. Macbean looked at the pair who had for so long been united hand and glove against the Minister, and recognised the spirit of murder in their glance. They would have killed him had they dared, for they knew too well that he had now revealed to the Minister the actual truth. Borselli, who had enticed him to Rome hoping to ensure his secrecy over the Sazarac affair, had placed his own head in the lion's mouth by so doing. It was seldom he made an error in his clever schemes, but he knew that he had done so on this occasion, and that it would require all his ingenuity and cunning to escape from such a compromising situation.
The minutes pa.s.sed, but neither spoke a word. Each man feared to utter a sentence lest it should be seized upon and misconstrued, while the Minister himself, silent and distinguished-looking, glanced from one to the other, and waited for his beloved daughter to enter and to speak.
CHAPTER FORTY.
THE STORY OF CAPTAIN SOLARO.
At last there was a light footstep out in the hall. The door opened, and she entered, radiant in her wonderful bridal gown and orange-blossoms, her long sweeping train behind, but without her veil, of course, her beautiful face revealed in all its haggard pallor.
Dubard sprang forward to welcome her; but ere he could take her hand he fell back in utter dismay, for behind her, silhouetted in the doorway, stood the figure of a man in a grey felt hat and a light overcoat.
”Great heavens!” gasped Macbean, who at the same moment recognised the new-comer. ”Solaro! Felice Solaro!”
”Yes,” replied the other, in a quiet, distinct voice, as he came into the room behind the Minister's daughter in her rustling silks. ”I am fortunately here, not by His Excellency's decree, but by the generous clemency of the king himself, who, on the occasion of his birthday, three days ago, and in consequence of a pet.i.tion of my family, gave me my liberty with others. I heard what was in progress, and so I have travelled here to ascertain the truth, and to clear myself of the base and scandalous charges those men who stand there have brought against me,” and he raised his finger and pointed to the Sicilian and the Frenchman, both of whose faces had, on the instant of recognising him, become entirely changed.