'But I never sat for this portrait, and what is the meaning of this uniform, which I have never worn?'
'Edmund, give me back that case,' said Heideck authoritatively, stretching out his hand for it again--but in vain. Had it not been for that previous occurrence in the Countess's room, Edmund would probably have allowed himself to be deceived by any pretext invented on the spur of the moment, for suspicion and distrust were far removed from his open, ingenuous nature. But now both had been inoculated, now he knew that some secret, some baneful secret, was being kept from him. His instinct told him that it had some connection with this picture, and he obstinately clung to the clue thus obtained, little dreaming as yet, it is true, whither it would lead.
'How did you come by the picture, uncle?' he asked again, this time in a somewhat louder key.
'That I will tell you when you have restored it to me,' was the sharp reply.
For all answer, Edmund stepped from the centre of the room, growing dark in the gathering twilight, to the window, where he could still see clearly, and began to study the picture, trait by trait, and line by line, as Oswald had studied it on the preceding day.
A long and troubled pause ensued.
Heideck convulsively grasped the back of the chair from which he had sprung. He had no choice but to look on in silence; for he told himself that any false step now, any attempt at forcible interference, might be the ruin of them all; but the ordeal of suspense was hard to bear.
'Are you satisfied?' he asked, when some minutes had elapsed; 'and do you intend to restore to me my property?'
Edmund turned.
'That is not my portrait,' he said slowly, emphasising each word; 'but it bears an extraordinary resemblance to myself, one which deceives at the first glance. Whom does it represent?'