"In these days there is no use in having sentiment just because a spy is a woman—but I am glad it is not my duty to deliver her up."
Verisschenzko smiled.
"I cannot help my nature, Denzil,—or rather the attributes of the nation into which in this life I am born. I shall hand Harietta over to justice without a regret."
Then they parted for the night with much of the disturbance and the complex emotions removed from Denzil's heart.
CHAPTER XXII
When Verisschenzko reached Paris and discovered the desecration of the Ikon, an icy rage came over him. He knew, even before questioning his old servant, that it could only be the work of Harietta. Jealousy alone would be the cause of such a wanton act. It revealed to him the certainty of his theory that she had imagined the little Benedict to be his child. No further proof that the postcard was a forgery was really needed, but he would see her once more and obtain extra confirmation.
His yellow-green eyes gleamed in a curious way as he stood looking at the mutilated picture.
That her ridiculous and accursed hatpin should have dared to touch the eyes of his soul's lady, and scratch out the face of the child!
But he must not let this emotion of personal anger affect what he intended in any case to do from motives of justice. In the morning he would give all his proofs of her guilt to the French authorities, and let the law take its course—but to-night he would make her come there to his apartment and hear from him an indictment of her crimes.
He sat down in the comfortable chair in his own sitting room and began to think.