For a minute after they had left the house Colonel Clery and Frederick walked on in silence. The night was very dark, and a fine drizzling rain was beginning to fall.
Suddenly Colonel Clery stopped short in front of Frederick, and laying his hand on the latter's arm said, quietly:
“I know you now—you are Count von Waldberg!”
The light of a street lamp was shining full on Frederick's face, and Colonel Clery remarked, with surprise, that not a muscle of his features moved.
“May I inquire, Colonel Clery, what on earth you mean by this astounding piece of insolence; for I can scarcely regard it in any other light after what you have told us to-night about the gentleman whose name you are attempting to father on me in such a preposterous fashion. Had I not spent the entire evening in your company I should be tempted to believe that you had been drinking.”
“I am perfectly aware of what I am saying,” replied the colonel, “and I should not have ventured to make such an assertion had I not been sure of my ground. Ever since I first met you here in London I have been seeking to recall your face. I knew that I had seen you before, but could not remember where. To-night, however, the conversation about the Baroda executions has brought the whole thing back to me, and I recognize you perfectly now. I cannot be mistaken.”
“It is to be regretted, for your own sake, that you are,” replied Frederick, “and very much so, too. I will hold you accountable for this deliberate calumny, Colonel Clery. A man should have proper proof before daring to accuse a gentleman of such crimes as those which your Count Waldberg or Walderburg seems, according to your story, to have committed.”
Colonel Clery was fairly staggered by Frederick's extraordinary coolness and self-possession. He began to ask himself whether he had not been committing some awful blunder in asserting that M. de Vaugelade and Count Waldberg were one and the same person.
“Of course,” faltered he, at length, “if you can give me any proof to show that you are not the man I believe you to be, I shall be only too happy to beg your pardon for what I have said, and attribute it all to a most remarkable resemblance.
“I am quite ready to give you any proof you may desire,” replied Frederick, very stiffly. “I may add, however, that were it not for the peculiar and privileged position which you hold with regard to the Kingsburys I should not dream of taking the trouble to exculpate myself in your eyes. It is for their sake alone that I consent to lower myself to answer your ridiculous insinuations.”