Etta was not looking at him.  Her eyes were turned toward the window, but they did not see with comprehension.  She was stony and stubborn.

“Princess,” said Steinmetz, “answer me before it is too late.  Has De Chauxville any other hold over you?”

Etta nodded, and the little action brought a sudden gleam to the Frenchman’s eyes.

“If,” said Steinmetz, looking from one to the other, “if you two have been deceiving Paul I will have no mercy, I warn you of that.”

Etta turned on him.

“Can you not believe me?” she cried.  “I have practised no deception in common with M. de Chauxville.”

“The Charity League is quite enough for you, my friend,” put in the Frenchman hurriedly.

“You know no more of the Charity League than you did before—­than the whole world knew before—­except this lady’s share in the disposal of the papers,” said Steinmetz.

“And this lady’s share in the disposal of the papers will not be welcome news to the prince,” answered De Chauxville.

“Welcome or unwelcome, he shall be told of it to-night.”

Etta looked round sharply, her lips apart and trembling.

“By whom?” asked De Chauxville.

“By me,” replied Steinmetz.

There was a momentary pause.  De Chauxville and Etta exchanged a glance.  Etta felt that she was lost.  This Frenchman was not one to spare either man or woman from any motive of charity or chivalry.

“Even if that is so,” he said, “the princess is not relieved from the embarrassment of her situation.”

“No?”

“No, my astute friend.  There is a little matter connected with Sydney Bamborough which has come to my knowledge.”

Etta moved, but she said nothing.  The sound of her breathing was startlingly loud.

“Ah!  Sydney Bamborough,” said Steinmetz slowly.  “What about him?”

“He is not dead; that is all.”

Karl Steinmetz passed his broad hand down over his face, covering his mouth for a second.

“But he died.  He was found on the steppe, and buried at Tver.”

“So the story runs,” said De Chauxville, with easy sarcasm.  “But who found him on the steppe?  Who buried him at Tver?”

“I did, my friend.”

The next second Steinmetz staggered back a step or two as Etta fell heavily into his arms.  But he never took his eyes off De Chauxville.

CHAPTER XXXVII

A DEUX

Steinmetz laid Etta on a sofa.  She was already recovering consciousness.  He rang the bell twice, and all the while he kept his eye on De Chauxville.  A quick touch on Etta’s wrist and breast showed that this man knew something of women and of those short-lived fainting fits that belong to strong emotions.

The maid soon came.

“The princess requires your attention,” said Steinmetz, still watching De Chauxville, who was looking at Etta and neglecting his opportunities.