“But you did not know for whom the papers were intended,—is it not so?”
“That is so, monsieur.”
“Well, I will tell you for whom they were intended. They were intended for Antonio Giudice, Duke of Giovennazzo and Prince of Cellamare, ambassador of Spain at the court of Versailles. In other words, monsieur, they were intended for myself.”
I had for a moment suspected what was coming, and it needed no second glance to tell me that he was speaking the truth.
“Ah, M. le Prince,” I cried, sending my sword into its sheath, “I am indeed glad to see you! But who, then, was the fellow whom I cut down?”
Cellamare bent over the man and looked into his face.
“’Tis a servant of mine!” he exclaimed. “He came to me with excellent recommendations a month ago and I employed him. I sent him on here to inform mademoiselle that I should be a few moments late.”
“Doubtless a police spy, then,” I said. “He is not dead, and perhaps we may get something more out of him. But come, let us close the door and see what injury has been done her.”
Cellamare sprang to the door and soon had it in place again, while I kneeled beside her body and placed my hand above her heart. I was overjoyed to feel it still faintly beating. Stooping closer, I saw that she was unconscious, and some livid marks about her neck indicated that the brute had been choking her.
“Good,” I said, “I believe that she has only fainted. Could you procure some water and some wine, monsieur?”