“Time does not admit of more words, otherwise Montebruno will rise and put the question. I therefore tell you that if you do not give me the letter I require at once, I shall make a clean breast of the whole affair.” And he glanced at his watch as he spoke.
“You!” gasped Borselli quickly, staring at the speaker. “Ah yes! I was a fool to have trusted you after all. I recognised it when too late. You have turned in Morini’s favour.”
“I have my own interests to serve as well as yours,” Dubard remarked quite frankly. “It is to my interest that the question is postponed.”
“And it is to mine that it should be put.”
“But you will not allow Montebruno to proceed, and risk your own position. Remember that in this affair my interests at the moment are not the same as yours.”
“And you actually declare that you will tell the truth if Montebruno speaks?” said Borselli hoarsely, realising how completely the man before him held his future in his hands.
“I do,” was the response. “You surely know me well enough! In such moments as these I do not trifle. Give me the letter! It is already a quarter to five, and I have only just time to drive to the Camera and place it in Montebruno’s hand.”
“But I can’t understand your motive,” exclaimed Borselli, realising that his companion meant what he said. “Remember what we agreed that night in London.”
“Perfectly. While our interests are similar, I am your friend; but where they divide, I am friend of myself alone. Come, Angelo, we cannot afford to waste further words—the letter, just two lines, or exposure of the truth. The latter would, I think,” he laughed, “be even a greater sensation to the public than the allegations against the Minister.”