"And
the owner of this sheath--the sheath of the dagger with which she
was stabbed--must claim his property!" And holding up the sheath in
question before Gherardi he continued--
"This _I_ found! This _I_ traced! Varillo's servant admitted it to
be his master's--Varillo's mistress recognised it as her lover's--a
slight thing, Monsignor!--but an uncomfortable witness! And if you
dare to promulgate your lie against my daughter and her work, I will
accuse you in the public courts of complicity in an attempted
murder! And I doubt whether the Pope will judge it politic, or a
part of national diplomacy, to support you then!"
For a moment Gherardi was baffled. His dark brows met in a frown of
menace and his lips tightened with his repressed fury. Then,--still
managing to speak with the utmost composure, he said,
"You will permit me to look at this dagger-sheath--this proof on
which you place so much reliance?"
In the certainty of his triumph, old Sovrani was ready to place it
in the priest's extended hand, when young Vergniaud interposed and
prevented him.
"No! You can admire it from a distance, Monsignor! You are capable
in your present humour of tearing it to atoms and so destroying
evidence! As the 'servant' of Prince Sovrani, it is my business to
defend him from this possibility!"
Gherardi raised his dark eyes and fixed them, full of bitterest
scorn, on the speaker.
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