“Excuse me, but do you refuse? I shall only tell you, in the event of your definite refusal.” “Of course I refuse!” cried Beaumagnan. “Your demand is absolutely senseless! I refuse categorically!” “Then I shall denounce you.” Beaumagnan was astounded. He looked at Ralph as if he were dealing with a madman. “You’ll denounce me? What’s this new game?” “I shall denounce all three of you.” “All three of us?” said Beaumagnan with a chuckle. “And what are you going to accuse us of, my young friend?” “The murder of Josephine Balsamo, Countess of Cagliostro!” * * * * * There was no word of protest, no gesture of revolt. Godfrey d’Etigues and Oscar de Bennetot seemed to sink into paralyzed heaps on their chairs. Beaumagnan turned livid and his chuckle ended in a horrible grimace. He rose, dashed to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. It had the effect of putting a little life into his associates. They sat upright again. Ralph had the audacity to make a joke of it: “My dear sir,” he said, “when a conscript joins his regiment they put him on a horse without stirrups till he learns to stick on.” “What do you mean?” “I mean that I have sworn never to carry a revolver till I find myself confronted by a situation which I cannot handle just with the help of my brain,” said Ralph. “So you are warned. I haven’t any stirrups; that is to say I haven’t any revolver. You are three, all armed; and I am alone. Therefore----” “Therefore, we’ve had enough of talk,” said Beaumagnan in a threatening tone. “It’s time for facts. You accuse us of having murdered the Countess of Cagliostro?” “I do.” “And you have proofs to support this monstrous accusation?” “I have.” “What are they?” “A few weeks ago I was wandering about the estate of La Haie d’Etigues, hoping to have the good fortune of meeting Mademoiselle d’Etigues, when I saw a carriage driven by one of your friends. This carriage went into the park. I slipped in after it. A woman, Josephine Balsamo, was carried into the chamber in the old tower, in which you were all gathered together; and you formed yourselves into a tribunal of sorts. Her trial was conducted as dishonorably and unfairly as it could be. You acted as public prosecutor, monsieur, and you carried your treachery and vanity to the point of letting it be believed that this woman had been your mistress. As for these two gentlemen, they played the part of executioners.” “The proof! The proof!” snarled Beaumagnan, whose face had become unrecognizable. “I was present, lying in the embrasure of the window, just above your head.” “It’s impossible!” stammered Beaumagnan. “If it was true, you would have made some attempt to intervene and save her!”