“Therefore, we’ve had enough of talk,” said Beaumagnan in a threatening tone. “It’s time for facts. You accuse us of having murdered the Countess of Cagliostro?”
“I do.”
“And you have proofs to support this monstrous accusation?”
“I have.”
“What are they?”
“A few weeks ago I was wandering about the estate of La Haie d’Etigues, hoping to have the good fortune of meeting Mademoiselle d’Etigues, when I saw a carriage driven by one of your friends. This carriage went into the park. I slipped in after it. A woman, Josephine Balsamo, was carried into the chamber in the old tower, in which you were all gathered together; and you formed yourselves into a tribunal of sorts. Her trial was conducted as dishonorably and unfairly as it could be. You acted as public prosecutor, monsieur, and you carried your treachery and vanity to the point of letting it be believed that this woman had been your mistress. As for these two gentlemen, they played the part of executioners.”
“The proof! The proof!” snarled Beaumagnan, whose face had become unrecognizable.
“I was present, lying in the embrasure of the window, just above your head.”
“It’s impossible!” stammered Beaumagnan. “If it was true, you would have made some attempt to intervene and save her!”
“Save her from what?” asked Ralph who naturally did not wish to reveal anything about the rescue of Josephine. “I believed, as did the rest of your confederates, that you had condemned her to confinement in an English mad-house. So I went away when they did. I hurried to Etretat. I hired a boat and rowed about waiting for the English yacht of which you had spoken, intending to frighten the captain into releasing the unfortunate woman. It was a vain attempt and cost her her life. The English yacht never came. It was only later that I understood the dastardly trick you had played and was able to reconstitute the actual crime, in all its horror, the descent of the priest’s staircase, the scuttled boat, and the drowning.”