He was able to smile now with less effort, and his lip curled contemptuously.
"I am dangerous—although I can jest. Your brother is safe, quite safe, where you will not think to look for him. I knew what you purposed to do, and I alone prevented it. You don't believe me. I will give you proofs. Two days ago when we were at Madame's house you went to Colonel Katona to tell him I was too indisposed to see him, and you came and told me you had said that. You did not say that. On the contrary you told him I would send him the information he needed of the identity of the man who had wronged Gareth."
"It is an easy tale," he said, with a shrug.
"Yes, easier than you frequently find it to tell the truth. You yourself sent in my name the proofs which the Colonel needed—one of the letters which Gareth—little, trusting Gareth,—had written to you, believing you to be your brother—Karl, Count von Ostelen."
"It is false."
"I have the letter;" and I held it up before him.
I got right home with that blow, and all the malignant cruelty in him was expressed in his eyes as he made a quick but futile attempt to snatch it from me.
"It is only another of your forgeries," he said.
"Gareth will not deny it;" and at that he winced. "You did not name your brother—that was too open a course for you—but you told Colonel Katona that the man was going to run away with another woman; and you named the hour and the place where he might be seen—last night in the Radialstrasse at nine o'clock—and that they were coming to this house—'Unter den Linden.' Do you still say it is false?"
He made no reply, but sat with a scowl tugging at his long fair moustache.