When I came to that part of the story where I accused Tarnowsy of duplicity in connection with the frescoes, she betrayed intense excitement. "Of course it was all a bluff on my part," I explained. "But you were nearer the truth than you thought," she said, compressing her lips. After a moment she went on: "Count Hohendahl sold the originals over three years ago. I was here with Maris at the time of the transaction and when the paintings were removed. Maris acted as an intermediary in the deal. Hohendahl received two hundred thousand dollars for the paintings, but they were worth it. I have reason to believe that Maris had a fourth of the amount for his commission. So, you see, you were right in your surmise." "The infernal rascal! Where are the originals, Countess?" "They are in my father's villa at Newport," she said. "I intended speaking of this to you before, but I was afraid your pride would be hurt. Of course, I should have spoken if it came to the point where you really considered having those forgeries restored." "Your father bought them?" "Yes. While we were spending our honeymoon here in Schloss Rothhoefen, Mr. Smart," she said. Her face was very pale. I could see that the dark associations filled her mind, and abruptly finished my tale without further reference to the paintings. "He will challenge you," she said nervously. "I am so sorry to have placed you in this dreadful position, Mr. Smart. I shall never forgive myself for--" "You are in no way concerned in what happened to-day," I interrupted. "It was a purely personal affair. Moreover, he will not challenge me." "He has fought three duels," she said. "He is not a physical coward." Her dark eyes were full of dread. I hesitated. "Would you be vitally interested in the outcome of such an affair?" I asked. My voice was strangely husky. "Oh, how can you ask?" "I mean, on Rosemary's account," I stammered. "He--he is her father, you see. It would mean--" "I was not thinking of the danger to him, Mr. Smart," she said simply. "But can't you see how dreadful it would be if I were to kill Rosemary's father?" I cried, completely forgetting myself. "Can't you see?" A slow flush mounted to her brow. "That is precisely what I was thinking, Mr. Smart. It would be--unspeakably dreadful." I stood over her. My heart was pounding heavily. She must have seen the peril that lay in my eyes, for she suddenly slipped out of the chair and faced me, the flush dying in her cheek, leaving it as pale as ivory. "You must not say anything more, Mr. Smart," she said gently. A bitter smile came to my lips, and I drew back with a sickening sense of realisation. There _was_ nothing more to be said. But I now thoroughly understood one thing: I was in love with her!...