The suddenness of this demand overwhelmed him, and he fell back into
the chair, his eyes bulging and his mouth agape.
"Do you hear me?" I cried. "The proofs!" going up to him with clenched
fists. "What have you done with those proofs? If you have destroyed
them I'll kill you."
Then, as a bulldog shakes himself loose, the old fellow got up and
squared his shoulders and faced me, his lips compressed and his jaws
knotted. I could see by his eyes that I must fight for it.
"Herr Winthrop has gone mad," said he. "The Princess Hildegarde never
had a sister."
"You lie!" My hands were at his throat.
"I am an old man," he said.
I let my hands drop and stepped back.
"That is better," he said, with a grim smile. "Who told you this
impossible tale, and what has brought you here?"
"It is not impossible. The sister has been found."
"Found!" I had him this time. "Found!" he repeated. "Oh, this is not
credible!"
"It is true. And to-morrow at noon the woman you profess to love will
become the wife of the man she abhors. Why? Because you, you refuse
to save her!"
"I? How in God's name can I save her?" the perspiration beginning to
stand out on his brow.
"How? I will tell you how. Prince Ernst marries Gretchen for her
dowry alone. If the woman I believe to be her sister can be proved so,
the Prince will withdraw his claims to Gretchen's hand. Do you
understand? He will not marry for half the revenues of Hohenphalia.
It is all or nothing. Now, will you produce those proofs? Will you
help me?" The minute hand of the clock was moving around with deadly
precision.
"Are you lying to me?" he asked, breathing hard.
"You fool! can't you see that it means everything to Gretchen if you
have those proofs? She will be free, free! Will you get those proofs,
or shall your god-child live to curse you?"
This was the most powerful weapon I had yet used.
"Live to curse me?" he said, not speaking to me, but to the thought.
He sat down again and covered his face with his hands. The minute
which passed seemed very long. He flung away his hands from his eyes
with a movement which expressed despair and resignation. "Yes, I will
get them. It is years and years ago," he mused absently; "so long ago
that I had thought it gone and forgotten. But it was not to be. I
will get the proofs," turning to me as he left the chair. "Wait here."
He unbolted the door and passed forth. . . . It was a full confession
of the deception, written by the mother herself, and witnessed by her
physician, the innkeeper and his wife. Not even the King could contest
its genuineness.