Madam Izabel had become cool as her father grew excited. She actually smiled—a hard, bitter smile—as she defiantly looked into his face and answered:
“Spy! You forget, sir, that I am your daughter. I came to your room to seek you. You were not here; but the door to this stairway was displaced, and a cold air came through it. Fearing that some danger menaced you I passed down the stairs until, hearing a noise, I paused to strike a match. You can best explain the contretemps.”
Long and silently Dom Miguel gazed upon his daughter. Then he said, abruptly, “Leave the room!”
She bowed coldly, with a mocking expression in her dark eyes, and withdrew.
As she passed me I noted upon her cheeks an unwonted flush that rendered her strikingly beautiful.
Deep in thought de Pintra paced the floor with nervous strides. Finally he turned toward me.
“What did you see?” he asked, sharply.
“A ring,” I answered. “It lay upon the trap, and the stone was fitted into one of the numerous indentations.”
He passed his hand over his brow with a gesture of despair.
“Then she saw it also,” he murmured, “and my secret is a secret no longer.”