‘Some hideous mistake,’ he murmured.
‘I hope so. God grant it is so,’ sobbed the unhappy lady. ‘But I remember Riskoff’s answer to your application for a loan. And now Riskoff is dead, your revolver is found in his house, and you are in possession of notes which he drew from his bank. Oh, my God, it’s awful! It’s too, too horrible! I am going mad!’
She uttered a suppressed scream, pressed her hands to her head, reeled and staggered, and fell fainting into the arms of some of her friends.
Apparently unmoved by this sad and pathetic scene, the Judge preserved his sternness and stolidity.
‘So Riskoff wrote to you?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ answered Ivanoff in a mechanical way.
‘Where is the letter?’
‘I will give it to you. Come with me.’
The Judge motioned to the armed men, and they placed themselves one on either side of the suspect, while the Judge himself brought up the rear. In this order they proceeded to Ivanoff’s studio, where, opening a bureau with a key he took from his pocket, he produced the letter he had received from Riskoff, wherein he point-blank refused to lend the money, and handed it to the Judge, who, having perused it, remarked:
‘This is a fatal piece of evidence against you. You had better make a clean breast of the whole affair.’