At length he opened a drawer in his desk,
sorted some papers, and brought out a yellow letter. This he laid down
beside the other.
"Yes, they are alike. This will be Arnsberg. But"--mildly--"who may say
that it is not a cunning forgery?"
"Forgery!" roared the duke. "Read this one from the late king of
Jugendheit to Arnsberg, then, if you still doubt."
Herbeck read slowly and carefully.
Then he rose and walked to the nearest window, studying the letter again
in the sharper light. Presently his hands fell behind his back and met
about the paper, while he himself stared over into the royal gardens. He
remained in this attitude for some time.
"Well?" said the duke impatiently.
Herbeck returned to his chair. "I wish that you had shown me these long
ago."
"To what end?"
"You accused the king?"
"Certainly, but he denied it."
"In a letter?"
"Yes. Here, read it."
Herbeck compared the two. "Where did you find these?"
"In Arnsberg's desk," returned the duke, the anger in his eyes giving
place to gloomy retrospection. "Arnsberg, my boyhood playmate, the man I
loved and trusted and advanced to the highest office in my power. Is
that not the way? Do we ever trust any one fully without being in the
end deceived? Well, dead or alive," the duke continued, his throat
swelling, "ten thousand crowns to him who brings Arnsberg to me, dead or
alive.
Pages:
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47