“The fact is a mystery no longer.”
“Why?”
“Because the identical cheque has been recovered and bears your endorsement,” she answered, in a slow, distinct voice.
“Who has recovered it?” he demanded quickly. “Who has it?”
She smiled triumphantly. This elegant man who but a moment ago had talked boldly, as became the Ambassador of Italy, was now cringing before her seeking information. His cool demeanour had altogether forsaken him.
“I have that cheque,” she said, her clear, unwavering eyes fixed upon his.
In an instant Castellani perceived that he was in the power of this pretty woman he had denounced and condemned. He knew well, too, that she was not the gay, abandoned woman that La Funaro was popularly supposed to be.
“Reflect for a single moment,” she continued ruthlessly. “What would be the result of the production of that missing draft about which so much has been written in the newspapers?”
The Ambassador bit his lip. Never in the whole course of his long and varied diplomatic career had he been so ingeniously checkmated by a woman. The estimate he had formed of her long ago was entirely correct. She possessed really remarkable talents.
“The result would certainly be rather annoying,” he observed, making a sorry attempt to smile.