“Which is that, Doctor Schmidt?” she demanded.
“The Englishman, by God!” Schmidt answered.
The silence which reigned for several seconds was intense and profound. The coolest of all four was perhaps Dominey. The Princess was pale with a passion which seemed to sob behind her words.
“Everard Dominey,” she cried, “what have you done with my lover? What have you done with Leopold Von Ragastein?”
“He met with the fate,” Dominey replied, “which he had prepared for me. We fought and I conquered.”
“You killed him?”
“I killed him,” Dominey echoed. “It was a matter of necessity. His body sleeps on the bed of the Blue River.”
“And your life here has been a lie!”
“On the contrary, it has been the truth,” Dominey objected. “I assured you at the Carlton, when you first spoke to me, and I have assured you a dozen times since, that I was Everard Dominey. That is my name. That is who I am.”
Seaman's voice seemed to come from a long way off. For the moment the man had neither courage nor initiative. He seemed as though he had received some sort of stroke. His mind was travelling backwards.