"Very well. Let His Excellency listen to you--and afterwards to me."
"Then let me speak first," cried the Englishman desperately. "Let me
tell you myself the truth of the Sazarac affair."
Borselli's face fell, and Morini's countenance changed colour in an
instant. Mention of that name was sufficient to cause both men quick
apprehension.
"You need not do that," the Sicilian managed to say. "But I will,"
Macbean went on. "You shall hear me. I know the truth is an unwelcome
one, but lest others shall tell you any garbled version of it, I will be
frank and fearless with you. In the winter three years ago I was taken
by Mr Morgan-Mason, whose secretary I was, to stay with General Felix
Sazarac, whose wife was my employer's elder sister, the younger sister
having married a Mr Fitzroy. The general, who was in command of the
French garrisons on the Alpine frontier, lived at the Villa Puget, at
Mentone, and at the Hotel National there was staying his friend Dubard--
the man before you. We became friendly, for the general often invited
Dubard to dine at the villa, and after a time there arrived in Mentone
at the same hotel an acquaintance of the count's--a young Italian
gentleman of means named Solaro, who was also introduced at the Villa
Puget, and who also became one of our intimate friends. Curiously
enough, however, the general did not seem to care for Solaro's company,
yet he frequently invited me to ride out with him, and gave me good
mounts from the barracks. Well," he went on, after a slight pause, "all
went merrily for over two months, until one day, when Mr Morgan-Mason
had gone to Marseilles, the general invited me to ride with him up into
the mountains to the fortress above Saint Martin Lantosque, which he had
to inspect. The morning was a bright one, with all the prospects of a
blazing day, and we first rode across the plain behind Mentone, and then
began to ascend the rough mountain paths into the Alps. We had ridden
some fourteen miles or so, when the general suddenly exclaimed, `That
rascally servant of mine has forgotten my flask again!' `Never mind,' I
called to him. `I have mine. I filled it with cognac and water before
starting.' `That's good!' he laughed.--`We shall want a drink before
long. It's going to be a blazer to-day!' And then we toiled on and on,
up the steep rough paths that wound higher and higher over the
mountains. Just before midday, however, the general pulled up, removed
his cap, and declaring that he was thirsty, took a long pull at the
flask I handed to him."
"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 passed. 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 analyst in Paris. This I
willingly did, entirely unsuspecting any plot. I packed them in a box,
and myself saw them despatched."
"And the analyst'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 circumstantial 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 analyst 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 passed, 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.