Dubard and Borselli exchanged uneasy glances; but a dead silence had fallen between the four men—a silence that was broken by the sound of wheels out on the gravelled drive. There were lots of coming and going in that bustling day, wedding guests arriving, and the bride’s luggage being despatched, so as to meet her in London before they left for Paris on the following morning.
The pause was painful. Macbean looked at the pair who had for so long been united hand and glove against the Minister, and recognised the spirit of murder in their glance. They would have killed him had they dared, for they knew too well that he had now revealed to the Minister the actual truth. Borselli, who had enticed him to Rome hoping to ensure his secrecy over the Sazarac affair, had placed his own head in the lion’s mouth by so doing. It was seldom he made an error in his clever schemes, but he knew that he had done so on this occasion, and that it would require all his ingenuity and cunning to escape from such a compromising situation.
The minutes passed, but neither spoke a word. Each man feared to utter a sentence lest it should be seized upon and misconstrued, while the Minister himself, silent and distinguished-looking, glanced from one to the other, and waited for his beloved daughter to enter and to speak.
Chapter Forty.
The Story of Captain Solaro.
At last there was a light footstep out in the hall. The door opened, and she entered, radiant in her wonderful bridal gown and orange-blossoms, her long sweeping train behind, but without her veil, of course, her beautiful face revealed in all its haggard pallor.
Dubard sprang forward to welcome her; but ere he could take her hand he fell back in utter dismay, for behind her, silhouetted in the doorway, stood the figure of a man in a grey felt hat and a light overcoat.
“Great heavens!” gasped Macbean, who at the same moment recognised the new-comer. “Solaro! Felice Solaro!”