Ward’s eyes stared at it fixedly, seeing instead the room at Carlota’s apartment, the shattered lamp, the scattered gems, and one lithe, leaping figure in the dim oblong of light from the open window.
“I have seen that before,” murmured the Marchese thoughtfully, “a beautiful gem.”
“When I spoke to you on the telephone this morning I asked you if you had lost a jewel?” Dmitri’s tone took on a keener edge as he leaned his hands upon the bare ebony table between them, and addressed Ward. “I also told you that I had just discovered a most unfortunate accident which had cost Count Jurka his life. I suggested, in view of certain papers which I had found in the Count’s notebook regarding—”
“You are a criminal now in the eyes of the law,” Ward cut in. “You know the value of a criminal’s testimony.”
“I am not speaking in court. I speak to my friends,” said Dmitri gently. “And I am no criminal, save at your own good pleasure, Mr. Ward. Would you prefer that I state the facts here, or wait until we arrive at police headquarters or possibly the grand jury?”
Ward’s face seemed to turn gray as they looked upon him.
“You can’t prove a damned word.” His eyes, bright and round, met Dmitri’s in sudden challenge.
“Can I not?” laughed the latter cheerily. “Ah, my dear Mr. Ward, life is so very strange and so amusing, and so unexpected, and yet it is all one grand harmony. I show to you the jewels, the rubies and pearls of the royal collection. You know where I got them from, and yet you can sit there and threaten me. You are a fool, because I have the proof against you!”
Ward rose heavily.
“Call Lorrie,” he gasped. “Marchese, I demand it.”