The allegation was, to him, a mystery. It was true that she had met the good-looking young captain in society, for he recollected perfectly well how, about eighteen months before, at a ball given by the Princess Capellari in Rome, he had noticed them dancing together. But Mary, being a great favourite, was much sought after by her male acquaintances, and he had never regarded the young Alpine captain as anything more than her mere acquaintance.
He, however, could not disguise from himself the fact that she had had access to those carefully guarded papers which constituted the complete scheme by which the millions of Italy’s armed men were to be mobilised in case of war. In order to preserve greater secrecy, he had employed her in his study in the palace in Rome to copy certain portions of the secret scheme relative to the army of the north—portions which it was necessary to place in the hands of the general commanding in case of necessity. He preferred her assistance in this rather than to employ one of the secretaries, for his confidence in her was complete. It was therefore amazing that this should actually be known to those who were seeking his ruin. They charged her with gaining knowledge of the whole scheme—which, indeed, she might easily have done—and with having afterwards handed a copy of it to Felice Solaro.
Such an imputation upon his daughter’s honour was infamous. That was Italy’s reward for all he had done for her!
He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was already five o’clock, the fatal hour when that thin-faced adventurer, Paolo Montebruno—an advocate, of course, as well as a Socialist deputy—was to rise and launch his bombshell into the Chamber!
He held his breath, and as he sat staring before him fixedly in desperation and despair, he pictured to himself the scene at Montecitorio at that moment. He knew well that huge, semicircular Camera, and he had often sat listening to Montebruno shrieking in that quick, impetuous, high-pitched voice which inflamed the members of his wild-haired party. Yes! he knew well what hard invectives he would use when, as the mouthpiece of Angelo Borselli, he poured forth his terrible charges against the Minister of War.
In that silent room, now darker as the sun declined, the man whose doom was sealed conjured up to himself the staggering sensation which would be caused by those allegations that he, the trusted adviser of his sovereign, had foully betrayed his country. Already he was speaking, without doubt, and already the wires were flashing the astounding charges to every corner of Italy. In a few brief hours those irresponsible journals inspired and subsidised by Borselli would be full of the sensation, screaming that Italy had been betrayed, and demanding a prosecution.
He knew, from what Ricci had told him, that the charges could not fail to set all Italy aflame. The plot against him had been too cleverly prepared. The hour had passed. The Camera were already staggered at the magnitude and seriousness of the charges. He was already hounded down as a thief and a traitor.
His nervous hand went to his vest-pocket, and drawing forth the small glass tube, he gazed upon it with a bitter smile of satisfaction.
Of a sudden the telephone bell rang sharply behind him, causing him to start. The voice from across those high misty mountains would speak his doom.
For a few moments the despairing man sat motionless, bent forward upon the table staring at the tube, then rising slowly, he staggered across to the instrument, took the receiver in his trembling fingers, and mechanically placed it to his ear.