“They allege that she was in love with him, but that, being only an officer with little else but his pay, he feared to approach you to obtain your permission to pay court to her, and that she, in order that he might obtain money from the French War Intelligence Department, gave him copies of certain secret documents which were in your possession.”
“But I have no plans of the Tresenta,” he declared quickly.
“There are other matters of which they allege the French have gained knowledge—details of the new mobilisation scheme.”
“Those papers are safely locked up at the Ministry,” he answered. “Mary has no knowledge of their existence.”
“If France obtained copies of them, would they be of service to her?”
“Of course. They would reveal our vulnerable points, and would show where she might strike us in order to destroy the concentration of our troops upon the frontier. Those papers are the most important of any we possess. The commanders of the various military districts have their secret orders, but they would be useless without the key to the complete scheme, which is kept safely from prying eyes in the Ministry. The French have surely not obtained a copy of that!” he gasped.
“It seems that they have—through your daughter, it is alleged.” Then he added, with a sigh, “They have all their facts ready to launch against you.”
“Their untruths—their lies!” he cried desperately, clenching his fist. “Ah, it is cruel! It is infamous! They even go so far as to brand my daughter—my dear Mary—as a traitress!”
And the strong man of Italy—the ruler of a European army—covered his face with his hands and sobbed aloud.
Vito Ricci had failed, yet was it any wonder that Morini’s enemies sought to attack his honour by making false and ignominious allegations against his daughter?