“Witnesses! Who are they?” Von Tressen demanded contemptuously.
“This man is your servant,” Galabin put in, pointing to the valet.
“And this,” pursued Von Tressen, indicating the priest who had laid down his book, and was sitting in one of the altar chairs with as much dignity as he could retain, “Is this another of your servants? Cowardly villain! I will proclaim you from one end of Europe to the other.”
The priest, taking his cue to speak, rose and stepped towards Von Tressen.
“You are mistaken, sir,” he said blandly. “I am not a suborned domestic masquerading as a priest. This is no mock marriage. I am Desider Hornthal, a graduate of the University of Buda, and priest of the parish of Lilienberg.”
“Then,” Von Tressen retorted, “if you are privy to this precious piece of villainy you are a disgrace to your cloth.”
“Will you leave my chapel?” cried Zarka.
“I will not,” Von Tressen answered. “Neither shall any man, till we have got to the bottom of this vile business. Galabin, make fast that door, there’s a good fellow. Now, sir,” he went on, turning again to Hornthal, “accepting your statement about yourself, have you the audacity to tell me and my friend that the Fräulein is that man’s wife? Stop! Before you answer I warn you. I am Lieutenant Von Tressen of the Second Regiment of Cavalry: my uncle is Staatssecretär Von Tressen. This gentleman,” he pointed to Galabin, “is Herr Galabin, in the Bureau of his Excellency Baron Gersdorff, and we intend this matter shall be fully brought to light. The reply you give us you will have to repeat before a tribunal of justice.”
“Of course she is my wife,” exclaimed Zarka angrily, as the priest hesitated. “The ceremony——”
“No, no! A thousand times no!” cried Philippa. “I swear I am not his wife. Osbert, it was by force and fraud, and they know it. Even if——”