The finger of suspicion pointed to the steward of his household, Torbern Oxe, who, it was said, had been among the most ardent of Dyveke's admirers, and had had the audacity to aspire to her hand. It was even rumoured that he had had more intimate relations with her. Such were the stories and suspicions that passed from mouth to mouth in Christian's clouded Court before Dyveke's beautiful body was cold; and such were the tales which Hans Faaborg, the King's Treasurer, poured into his master's ears. Hans Faaborg little dreamt that when he was thus trying to bring about the downfall of his rival he was sealing his own fate. Christian lent an eager ear to the stories of his steward's iniquities; but, when he found there was no shred of proof to support them, his anger and disappointment vented themselves on the informer. He had long suspected Faaborg of irregularities in his purse-holding, and in these suspicions found a weapon to use against him. Faaborg was arrested; an examination of his ledgers showed that for years he had been waxing rich at his master's expense, and he had to pay with his life the penalty of his fraud and his unproved testimony. But Faaborg, though thus removed from his path, was by no means done with. Rumours began to be circulated that a strange light appeared every night above the dead man's head as he swung on the gallows. The city was full of superstitious awe and of whisperings that Heaven was thus bearing witness to the Treasurer's innocence. And even the King himself, when he too saw the unearthly light forming a halo round his victim's head, was filled with remorse and fear to such an extent that he had Faaborg's body cut down and honoured with a State funeral. He was still, however, as far as ever from solving the mystery of Dyveke's death; and the longer his desire for vengeance was baffled, the more clamorous it became. Although nothing could be proved against Torbern Oxe, Christian was by no means satisfied of his innocence, and he decided to discover by guile the secret which all other means had failed to reveal. He would, if possible, make his steward his own betrayer. One day, at a Court banquet, he turned in jocular mood to the minister and said, "Tell me now, my dear Torbern, was there really any truth in what Faaborg told me of your relations with my beautiful Lady! Don't hesitate to tell the truth, which only you know, for I assure you no harm shall come to you from it." Thus thrown off his guard and reassured, the steward, who, like his master, had probably drunk not wisely, confessed that he had loved Dyveke, and had asked her to be his wife. "But, sire," he added, "that was the extent of my offence. I was never intimate with her." During the remainder of the banquet Christian was most affable to the indiscreet steward, not only showing no trace of resentment, but treating him with marked friendliness.