did you manage it finally?” Andrew enquired.
“Please tell us,” Félice pleaded.
“Until a certain great man is dead,” her father answered, “I can never open my lips. I can only give you a hint. A great bird dropped one day in the gardens of the fortress—a bird that came across the Black Sea.”
They obeyed his will and asked no more questions. Presently he rose to his feet.
“May I go?” he begged. “I am a little weary, and you two must have need of conversation together. To-morrow I shall come down and see this wonderful home of yours which Félice loves so much, son-in-law.”
“Indeed I hope that you will, sir,” Andrew assured him. “Félice will tell you, I think, that she has been very happy there.”
The two men shook hands warmly.
“Believe me, I am very conscious of my good fortune,” Félice’s father acknowledged. “You have given happiness to my daughter. No man could earn a greater claim to my gratitude.”
Félice and Andrew, arm in arm, made their way to the latter’s den—a small comfortable apartment at the back of the house. Félice established herself by her husband’s side on a huge divan and watched him light his pipe.
“I wonder whether you can imagine, dear, dear Andrew,” she confided, “how happy I feel. It is as though a great weight had been rolled away from my heart. I have felt so wretched, so ashamed, every time I thought of those terrible people, and now to know that they do not exist, that they mean nothing to me —Andrew, that is so wonderful!”
“I should jolly well think so!” he exclaimed, his tone full of sympathy. “Of course, one had to do the best one could for them so long as one believed their rotten story, but they were a loathsome crew.” She shivered reminiscently.
“They are passing away from my memory like an evil dream,” she sighed.
“Shouldn’t waste another thought upon them,” Andrew enjoined. “You have something much more wonderful to think about, little sweetheart—your father. What a fine fellow!”
There were tears of happiness in her eyes.
“Isn’t he wonderful? And, dearest, I knew—I knew the moment he looked at me!”
“I am almost as proud of him as I am of his daughter,” Andrew declared, holding her a little more tightly. “We will have to do our best to give him a good time. Fancy ten years in prison, under any conditions, for a man who was almost the ruler of his country!”
“He will be happy with us,” Félice murmured. There was a brief period of eloquent silence. Then Félice raised her head from her husband’s shoulder. Once more the shadow of fear had crept into her eyes.
“The time has come now, Andrew,” she whispered, “when I must make a confession to you. It has hurt me very much to keep silent, but indeed I could not see what else there was for me to do. Listen to me, dear,” she went on, clutching at his arm. “Not at the inquest, not to you, never to any one, have I been quite honest about that awful night.”
“I have always known that, my dear,” he assured her, with a calm which bordered almost upon indifference.
“I am not very good at deceiving,” she went on. “I have never tried it before, and it hurt. Remember, I had promised to keep their secret, and I believed Charles to be my brother. That night when he came to Glenlitten, I nearly fainted. I made myself brave, though. I listened. He was in great need, he said. There was something which must be done. He must see me alone. Very well. I retired. He came to me in my boudoir. We were talking. He had begun to explain about a great money difficulty that he was in. He asked if I could not find money, or some bonds, or jewellery—anything. Whilst we talked, some one stopped in the corridor outside. I believe now that it was Mr. Haslam, and that he had seen Charles come upstairs. I was terrified. I lost my head, for I was in my dressing gown, and who was to know that Charles was my brother? I motioned quite wildly to him to leave me. He passed into the bathroom. From there, I thought that he would go through my room and out on to the corridor. I know now that he did not.”
“Pretty desperate fellow, Charles,” Andrew remarked encouragingly.
“Afterwards I undressed and went to bed, wondering what I could do to help him. Then, whilst I was half asleep, a terrifying thing happened. Some one called out my name. I sprang up. The door of my bathroom was thrown open, and De Besset stood there. Something gripped my throat, and there was a singing in my ears. I could not speak. I could not hear what De Besset called out to me. But I could see—horrible things. I saw some one—the burglar— with a mask upon his face, crawling through the window, and I also saw—something else!”
There was a break in her voice. Her hands had become as cold as ice. He laid his cheek against hers.
“Don’t hurry, darling,” he whispered. “Rest for a little time. You can tell me later.”
She seemed scarcely to hear him. Her fingers gripped his. Her eyes, round and glazed with fear, were fixed upon the wall.
“It was the figure of a man—a blurred shape, leaning against the other side of the dressing table,” she went on. “He was leaning over the place where I had left my jewels. Andrew, I thank God that I could not see his face, for all the time that hideous fear has been with me—it may have been Charles. He may never have left my bedroom. He may have hidden in the cupboard—the cupboard Sir Richard asked questions about. Whoever it was, he must have seen De Besset, and he may have fired that shot. The flash seemed to come from there. I saw it—a little pencil of red flame. Then I fainted.”
Andrew smoked his pipe thoughtfully for a moment.
“I always felt there was something like that, dear,” he acknowledged. “You mustn’t take it too seriously, though. Remember that the tragical side of the situation has gone, now that we know the truth about the young man. Of course, it won’t be pleasant for you to have to go into the box and tell the whole story, especially now that Charles turns out to be no relation at all, but every one will understand, and what does that matter against a man’s life? You just tell the truth, dear, and Mr. Charles must take his chance. I fancy he’s a wrong ‘un, anyway. I know I had jolly hard work to keep myself from pounding him, when I saw him with his arm around your waist, after that dancing lesson. I knew there must be some sort of explanation, of course, but it made me see red for the moment.”
“You were simply wonderful,” she whispered. “I was so proud that you trusted me.”
There was a moment’s silence. Félice sprang up, lit a cigarette, and returned to her place. She curled herself up with a little sigh of content. Already her mercurial temperament was reasserting itself. Andrew knew everything. Once more she was happy.
“I think the best thing we can do is to see Dick,” Andrew decided. “He’d better have the whole story. I don’t think you need worry, dear. You see, you can’t swear to anything. You can’t say for certain that there was any one else in the room. On the other hand, your evidence will immensely weaken the case against Drayton. He’ll get off, without a doubt, and, unless some one saw Charles leave your room after the shot was fired, I don’t see that there’ll ever be any evidence against him either.”
There was a knock at the door. A servant entered, with a formal-looking missive reposing upon a tray.
