She hesitated. “It is difficult to speak of them—but I will tell you. Mr. Rizzio has forfeited all right to my loyalty. He offered to marry me. I refused him. He told me he would never give me up. In Scotland he threatened Cyril—Mr. Hammersley’s life. I know now what he meant.”
“Yes, but in his letter to you he does not threaten. He urges that he is doing what he can to save Hammersley!”
“I did not believe him. I was right. Events have proved it. He would have been glad to see Mr. Hammersley out of the way.” She covered her face with her hands and sank into her chair again. “Oh,” she whispered, “it is horrible—horrible. And it is I who must be the instrument of justice.”
Von Stromberg waited for a moment, tapping one finger of his left hand very slowly upon the back of his right.
“Try to compose yourself, liebes Fräulein,” he urged calmly, and, as she looked up at him: “You say he wanted to be rid of Herr Hammersley. Can you tell me then, why his men did not shoot him when they had him prisoner at Ashwater Park gates?”
“I do not know. Perhaps they would have done so if he hadn’t escaped.”
Von Stromberg paused again, and then, gently:
“You love Herr Hammersley a great deal, Fräulein?”
She bent her gaze upon him appealingly.
“Would I now be here, Excellenz?” she asked.