“This is monstrous,” said the Duchess Stephanie. “He is Prince Kalkov’s spy, of course, and seeks to cover the infamy of his imposture with this amazing insolence.”
This gave me an excellent cue, for I saw Helga wince; and I hoped she resented alike the charge, and the way it was made. What the other two thought of me I cared not a five-cent piece: and with Helga herself I had only to explain away my last act of implied confirmation of her mistake as to my identity. It would not be easy, of course, because the disappointment to her must inevitably cause her to exaggerate its meanness.
“I am neither a criminal nor a spy, madame,” I said.
“I will have an explanation,” cried Boreski insistently.
“I have no explanation to give, except that if you had arrived a quarter of an hour earlier all this—this excitement would have been unnecessary. For what occurred in that quarter of an hour I am profoundly sorry;” and I looked again at Helga.
“You are right, Stephanie; this is a monstrous thing,” cried Boreski. He rose and came toward me, and said, with a sort of fierce contemptuousness: “You do not explain because you have no explanation. You are a spy; some new and zealous member of the secret police, no doubt. You will be kept here until I find means to make you speak.”
“Good,” exclaimed the Duchess, “very good. The only way, of course.”
I contented myself with a shrug of the shoulders, and met his angry look with one of complete indifference.
“I have seen that kind of mood before with other impostors and spies of the same type.”
“Your opinion of me, M. Boreski, is a matter of absolute indifference.” I said this calmly and deliberately, and added: “And I repeat, you are only making a bad situation much worse.”