That, however, was of no vital importance. The main thing was that the ring had been taken from him, and had once more changed ownership.
Perhaps Paola, lurking near his uncle’s mansion, had encountered this person and killed him to get the ring. If so, had he carried it to the Emperor? And was this the explanation of Dom Pedro’s sudden visit to de Pintra’s residence?
Yet what object could Paola have in betraying the conspiracy at this juncture?
Filled with these thoughts I was about to proceed to the house, when a sudden thought induced me to stoop and feel of the murdered man’s arm. The flesh was still warm!
The murder had been done that very evening—perhaps within the hour.
I own that the horror of the thing and the reckless disregard of life evinced in this double murder for the possession of the ring, warned me against proceeding further in the matter; and for the moment I had serious thoughts of returning quietly to Rio and taking the first steamer for New Orleans. But there were reasons for remaining. One was to get possession in some way of Dom Miguel’s body and see it decently buried; for he was my uncle’s friend, as well as my own, and I could not honorably return home and admit that I had left him lying within the dungeon where his doom had overtaken him. The second reason I could not have definitely explained. Perhaps it was curiosity to see the adventure to the end, or a secret hope that the revolution was too powerful to be balked. And then there was Lesba! At any rate, I resolved not to desert the Cause just yet, although acknowledging it to be the wisest and safest course to pursue.
So, summoning all my resolution and courage to my aid, I crept to the window of my room and, by a method that I had many times before made use of, admitted myself to the apartment.
I had seen no lights whatever shining from the windows, and the house—as I stood still and listened—seemed absolutely deserted. I felt my way to a shelf, found a candle, and lighted it.
Then I turned around and faced the barrel of a revolver that was held on a level with my eyes.
“You are our prisoner, senhor!” said a voice, stern but suppressed. “I beg you to offer no resistance.”