"
"Then, if you know so much, you scoundrelly thief, you know that my
father will not honor a draft for such a sum as you demand. I doubt if
my father would pay a single dollar to save me from assassination."
"We will not discuss that, signore, for I regret to say that your father
is no longer able to honor drafts. However, your attorney can do so, and
will, without question."
Ferralti stared at him blankly.
"What do you mean by that?" he demanded.
The Duke shook the ashes from his cigar and examined the glowing end
with interest.
"Your father," was the deliberate reply, "was killed in a railway
accident, four days ago. I have just been notified of the fact by a
cable from America."
Ferralti sat trembling and regarding the man with silent horror.
"Is this true, sir?" asked Uncle John, quickly; "or is it only a part of
your cursed game?"
"It is quite true, signore, I regret being obliged to break the ill news
so abruptly; but this gentleman thought himself too poor to purchase my
little bracelet, and it was necessary to inform him that he is suddenly
made wealthy--not yet so great a Croesus as yourself, Signor Merreek,
but still a very rich man."
Ferralti ceased trembling, but the horror still clung to his eyes.
"A railway wreck!" he muttered, hoarsely. "Where was it, sir? Tell me, I
beseech you! And are you sure my father is dead?"
"Very sure, signore.
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