unner? Breunner? Hans Breunner, brother of Hermann, and you put
yourself into my hands?" The tone developed into a suppressed roar. The
duke took hold of Hans by the shoulders and drew him close. "You dog! So
you ask for nothing? It shall be given to you. To-morrow morning I shall
have you shot! Hans Breunner! God is good to me this night! Thanks, Herr
Carmichael, a thousand thanks! And I need not ask who that damnable
scoundrel is who has the black face and heart of a Gipsy. When I
recollect what I have suffered at your hands! If only the late king were
here, my joy would be complete!"

"Your Highness," said Von Arnsberg quietly, "all I have left in the
world are these two withered hands, and may God cut them off if they
ever wronged you in any act. I am innocent. Those letters purported to
have been written by me were forgeries. I could not prove this, so I
have been outlawed, with the sentence of death over my head. But
to-night I shall leave this palace a free man, and you shall ask pardon
for the wrong you have done me."

There was no fear in the voice; there was nothing but confidence. The
duke glared at the speaker somberly, recalling what Herbeck had often
said.

"What you say still remains to be proved. Now, what is at the bottom of
all this?" was the demand. "You men have not obtained this interview for
the sake of affirming your innocence. Herr Carmichael, here, declared to
me on honor that you were in possession of a great secret. Out with it,
without any more useless recrimination."

Hans replied not in words but in actions. He crossed the room to the
duke's desk and spread out his treasures under the flickering
candlelight. The duke, with a cry of terror, sprang toward the secret
drawer. His first thought was that the shoes and cloak, upon which only
his eyes ever rested now, had been stolen. He straightened. Nothing was
missing. He glanced from face to face, from the articles on the desk to
those in the drawer. He was overwhelmed. But he steadied himself; it was
no moment for physical weakness. Slowly, ignoring every one, he came
back to the desk and fingered the locket. Just then it was exceedingly
quiet in the room, save that each man heard the quick breathing of his
neighbor. The duke opened the locket, looked long and steadfastly at the
portrait, and shut it. Then he went to the drawer again and returned
with the counterparts. He laid them side by side. The likeness was
perfect in all details.