The cunning with which he thus got out his charge against Boreski of being a sworn Nihilist and at the same time coloured the description of his own act, did not escape me.
“How?” I asked; and he fumbled with the question in dire doubt.
“By failing to report a matter of grave importance to the brotherhood, your Majesty,” he answered at length.
“What matter?”
“Particulars of your Majesty’s movements.”
“In other words, you told them I was at mademoiselle’s villa, and that M. Boreski knew it.”
“Not that you were, your Majesty—I am no traitor—but that you had been.” He made the distinction eagerly. “I intended to punish Boreski for his insult to me, not, as God is my judge, to bring any danger upon your Majesty.”
“You are a bad liar. You brought the men here.”
“No, no, no! your Majesty. On my soul, not in search of you. Besides, I was in imminent fear of my life. I saw then the mistake I had made in ever saying a word. They made me accompany them to the villa, and when we heard Boreski was not there, nor Mademoiselle Helga, they forced me at the pistol point to seek them here.”
“You knew I had come here?” and I searched his face with angry eyes.