“I have not the honor of your acquaintance, senhor,” said I, stiffly; “nor, in view of your childish conduct, do I greatly desire it.”
Fonseca laughed, and the Pole turned his impassive face, with its half-closed eyelids, in my direction. But Piexoto seemed rather pleased with my retort, and said:
“Never mind; your head sits as insecurely upon its neck as any present. ‘Tis really a time for action rather than recrimination. What do you propose, Mazanovitch?”
“I am waiting to hear if you have discovered the present possessor of the ring,” answered the captain.
“No; our people were ignorant of its very existence, save in a few cases, and none of them has seen it. Therefore the Emperor has it, without doubt.”
“Why without doubt?” asked Mazanovitch.
“Who else could desire it? Who else could know its value? Who else would have murdered Madam Izabel to secure it?”
“Why the devil should the Emperor cause his own spy to be murdered?” inquired Fonseca, in his harsh voice. “You are a fool, Piexoto.”
“What of Leon de Mar?” asked the other, calmly. “He hated his wife. Why should he not have killed her himself, in order to be rid of her and at the same time secure the honor of presenting his Emperor with the key to the secret vault?”
“Leon de Mar,” said Mazanovitch, “is in Rio Grande do Sul. He has been stationed there for three weeks.”