“But—”
“I do not wish to discuss this unpleasant matter further,” interrupted Waldron. “Go and tell the King—but at your own peril. Buona sera.” And the diplomat turned away. As he was about to leave the room Ghelardi sprang forward and placed his fingers upon the handle of the door to prevent him.
“I think,” he said, “that we are perhaps misunderstanding each other.”
“No, we are not,” was Hubert’s prompt reply, sturdy Briton that he was. “I understand you, Luigi Ghelardi, perfectly. You have no compunction where Her Highness is concerned. You, man of secrets that you are, will, rather than conceal a woman’s shortcomings, bring upon her the anger of the King in order to secure your own personal ends.”
The bristly haired old official bit his lip. Hubert watched him and smiled inwardly.
“You defy me to execute my duty.”
“Your duty is political espionage, not to spy upon a member of the royal family,” the diplomat replied. “And, further, I tell you that if you breathe a word of this to His Majesty—or if His Majesty gets to hear of it through any third party, I will not spare you, Luigi Ghelardi,” he added, earnestly facing the old man in defiance. “Go then, tell him what you will,” Hubert continued angrily, and again he turned the handle of the door to pass out.
“That is my intention.”
“And in return my intention will be to bring you down from your high position in the King’s esteem. That I shall do, and quickly—never fear,” Waldron said. Then, after a second’s pause, he added: “You are acquainted with a certain Englishman—a Mr Jerningham. He knew you well when you were in the German Service—he has cause to remember you. Indeed he has still a little account to settle with you, has he not—eh?”
Ghelardi started.