He turned to the captain of the guard, who was standing close beside him.
"Will this dagger explain the mystery, think you, my son?" he asked, handing a small weapon to the soldier. "I picked it up just now."
The guard--he was but a young man--took the dagger from His Eminence's hand, and looked at it attentively. Those who were nearest to him noticed that he suddenly started, and that the hand which held the narrow pointed blade trembled visibly.
"Your Grace's dagger!" he said at last, handing the weapon to Wessex. "It has Your Grace's arms upon the hilt."
Dead silence followed these simple words. The Duke seemed half dazed, and mechanically took the dagger from the captain's hand; the blade still bore on it the marks of Don Miguel's blood.
"Yes! it is my dagger," he murmured mechanically.
"But no doubt Your Grace can explain . . ." suggested His Eminence indulgently.
Wessex was about to reply when one of the guard suddenly interposed.
"I seemed to see a woman flying through the gardens just now, captain," he said, addressing his officer.
"A woman?" asked His Eminence. "What woman?"
"Nay, my lord, I couldn't see distinctly," replied the soldier, "but she was dressed all in white, and ran very quickly along the terrace not far from this window."
"Then Your Grace will perhaps be able to tell us . . ." suggested the Cardinal with utmost benevolence.
"I can tell Your Eminence nothing," replied Wessex coldly. "I was in this room all the time and saw no woman near."
"Your Grace was here?" said His Eminence in gentle tones of profound astonishment, "alone with Don Miguel de Suarez? . . . The woman . . ."
"There was no woman here," rejoined the Duke of Wessex firmly, "and I was alone with Don Miguel de Suarez."
There was dead silence now, the moon, pale, inquisitive, brilliant, peeped in through the window to see what was amiss. She saw a number of men recoiling, awestruck, from a small group composed of a dead man and of the first gentleman in the land self-confessed as a murderer. No one dared to speak, the moment was too solemn, too terrible, for any speech save a half-smothered sigh of horror.
The captain of the guard was the first to recollect his duty.
"Your Grace's sword . . ." he began, somewhat shamefacedly.