"I listen," replied the Spaniard.
"I appeal to you by the memory of the dead—by the memory of him who was more than a father to me—by the memory of the last hour of Don Tomaso Crivelli."
It seemed as if the sound of this name struck upon the most sensitive chord in the nature of the haughty Spaniard. He started as if he had been shot, and dropping into a chair that stood near him, buried his face in his hands. Silas Craig lifted his eyes with a glance of pious horror.
"This is horrible!" he exclaimed; "the guilty wretch dares to call upon the name of the dead, dares to wound his noble benefactor's sensitive heart. Why delay any longer to reason with this hypocrite? The officers of justice are without, let them at once do their duty."
Silas Craig opened the door of the apartment as he spoke, and beckoned to three men who were waiting on the staircase.
"The police!" exclaimed Paul.
"Yes; they have a warrant for your arrest," replied Silas Craig. "You have carried it with a very high hand, Mr. Paul Lisimon, but you will sleep in jail to-night."
The young Mexican did not condescend to answer this speech, but, turning to Don Juan, he said with quiet dignity—
"Since this man's accusation appears to you stronger than my declaration of innocence, I cannot blame you, sir, in believing him. I freely own that the chain of evidence forged against me is a damning one, but, sooner or later, the day will come when I will shatter that chain, link by link, and prove yonder wretch the basest of his kind. In the meantime, I would ask one favor of you. I have papers and letters in my room, which are of priceless value to me, suffer me to gather those together before they convey me to prison."
Don Juan had not once lifted his head since the mention of his brother-in-law's name. He replied to Paul's request, in a broken voice—