“Ripaldi?” said the General, remembering with some uneasiness that he had seen the name at the bottom of the Countess’s telegram. “Ah! now I understand.”
“You had heard of it, then? In what connection?” asked the Judge, a little carelessly, but it was a suddenly planned pitfall.
“I now understand,” replied the General, perfectly on his guard, “why the note-book was familiar to me. I had seen it in that man’s hands in the waiting-room. He was writing in it.”
“Indeed? A favourite occupation evidently. He was fond of confiding in that note-book, and committed to it much that he never expected would see the light—his movements, intentions, ideas, even his inmost thoughts. The book—which he no doubt lost inadvertently is very incriminating to himself and his friends.”
“What do you imply?” hastily inquired Sir Charles.
“Simply that it is on that which is written here that we base one part, perhaps the strongest, of our case against the Countess. It is strangely but convincingly corroborative of our suspicions against her.”
“May I look at it for myself?” went on the General in a tone of contemptuous disbelief.
“It is in Italian. Perhaps you can read that language? If not, I have translated the most important passages,” said the Judge, offering some other papers.
“Thank you; if you will permit me, I should prefer to look at the original;” and the General, without more ado, stretched out his hand and took the note-book.
What he read there, as he quickly scanned its pages, shall be told in the next chapter. It will be seen that there were things written that looked very damaging to his dear friend, Sabine Castagneto.