fatherhad chosen it. It struck me that they had bought the furniture just asit had stood from some Italian, perhaps the previous occupier.
Old Marietta was a pleasant, grey-faced old woman in cheap black whowore large gold rings in her ears and spoke with the pleasant accent ofSiena, and who, I saw, was devoted to her young mistress.
"This is Mr Leaf," she explained in Italian. "He is an English friendof my father's." Then turning to me she said, laughing, "Mariettaalways likes to know who's who. All Italians are so very inquisitiveabout the friends of their _padrone_."
The old woman smiled, showing her yellow teeth and wished me _buonasera_, to which I replied in her own tongue, for the position ofservants in Italy is far different from their position with us. YourTuscan house-woman is part of the family, and after a few years offaithful service is taken into the family council, consulted uponeverything, controls expenditure, makes bargains, and is, to her_padrone_, quite indispensable. Old Marietta was a typical _donna dicasa_, one of those faithful patient women with a sharp tongue to allthe young men who so continuously ran after the young _padrona_, andonly civil to me because I was a friend of the "signore."
She was shrewd enough to continue to be present at our leave-taking,though it was doubtful whether she knew English sufficiently tounderstand what passed between us. I saw that Marietta intended Ishould go, therefore I wished her young _padrona_ adieu.
She held her breath for a moment as our hands clasped, and I saw in herbrown eyes a look of blank despair.
"Be courageous," I said, in a low voice. "The future may not hold foryou such terrors as you believe."
"Future!" she echoed. "I have no future. _Addio_." And I went downthe wide, ill-lit stone staircase full of dismal foreboding, and outfrom the secret lair of the thief who was notorious, but whom the policeof Europe had always failed to arrest.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
CONTAINS ANOTHER SURPRISE.
I dined at a small table alone in the big crowded _table-d'hote_ room ofthe hotel. About me were some of the most exclusive set in Italy,well-dressed men and women, Roman princes, marquises and counts, with afair sprinkling of the Hebrew fraternity. At the table next mine sat ayoung prince of great wealth together with the fair American girl towhom he was engaged to be married, and the young lady's mother. Theprince and his fiancee were speaking Italian, and the old lady fromIdaho City, understanding no other language but her own, seemed to behaving anything but an amusing time.
All this, however, interested me but little. I was reflecting upon theevents of that afternoon, trying to devise some means by which to solvethe enigma that was now driving me to desperation.
My well-beloved was in a deadly peril. How could I save her?
I saw that rapid and decided action was necessary. Should I return toEngland and watch the actions of the man I had known as LieutenantShacklock, or should I go on to Rome and try and discover something bothregarding the object of Miller's journey there and the part of theItalian who, prior to his death, had consigned to me that mysteriouspacket?
As I ate my dinner in silence I decided to first take a flying visit toRome. I could return to England afterwards. Ella's marriage was notfor three weeks or so, therefore I might, in that time, succeed insolving the enigma as far as Miller was concerned, and by doing soobtain further information against his accomplice, Gordon-Wright.
Therefore at midnight I left Leghorn by way of Colle Salvetti, andthrough the night travelled across the Maremma fever-marshes, until atnine o'clock next morning the train drew into the great echoing terminusof the "Eternal City."
I went to the Hotel Milano, where it was my habit to stay. I knew Romewell and preferred the Milano--which, as you know, is opposite theChamber of Deputies in the Piazza Colonna--to the Grand, the Quirinale,or the new Regina. At the Milano there was an unpretentious old-worldcomfort appreciated too by the Italian deputies themselves, for many ofthem had their _pied-a-terre_ there while attending to theirparliamentary duties in the capital.
Rome lay throbbing beneath the August heat and half deserted, for everyone who can get away in those breathless blazing days when the fever isprevalent does so. Numbers of the shops in the Corso and the ViaVittorio were closed, the big doors and _persiennes_ of the palaces andembassies were shut, showing that their occupants were away at the sea,or in the mountains, in France, Switzerland or England for cool air,while the cafes were deserted, and the only foreigners in the streets afew perspiring German and American sightseers.
Unfortunately I had not inquired of Lucie her father's address and knewnothing except that he was staying with a doctor named Gavazzi.Therefore at the hotel I obtained the directory and very soon discoveredthat there was a doctor named Gennaro Gavazzi living in the Via delTritone, that long straight thoroughfare of shops that run from thePiazza S. Claudio to the Piazza Barberini.
It was about midday when I found the house indicated by the directory, alarge palazzo which in Italian style was let out in flats, the groundfloor being occupied by shops, while at the entrance an old white-hairedhall-porter was dozing in a chair.
I awoke him and inquired in Italian if the Signore Dottore Gavazzi livedthere.
"_Si signore. Terzo piano_," was the old fellow's reply, raising hisforefinger to his cap.
"Thank you," I said, slipping five francs into his ready palm. "But bythe way," I added as an afterthought, "do you know whether he has anEnglish signore staying with him--a tall dark-haired thin man?"
"There's a gentleman staying with the Signore Dottore, but I do notthink he is an Englishman. He spoke perfect Italian to me yesterday."
"Ah, of course, I forgot. He speaks Italian perfectly," I said. "Andthis Dottore Gavazzi. How long has he lived here?"
"A little over a year. He acted as one of the private secretaries toHis Excellency the Minister Nardini--he who ran away from Rome a littletime ago, and hasn't since been heard of."
"Oh! was he," I exclaimed at once, highly interested. "Nardini played asharp game, didn't he?"
"Embezzled over a million francs, they say," remarked the porter. "Butwhenever he came here, and it was often, he always gave me something toget a cigar with. He was very generous with the people's money, I willsay that for him," and the old fellow laughed. "They say there was alady in the case, and that's why he fled from Rome."
"A lady! Who was she?"
"Nobody seems to know. There's all sorts of reports about, of course.I hope the police will find him. They must arrest him some day, don'tyou think so, signore?"
"Perhaps," I said, thinking deeply. "But I'm interested to hear aboutthe lady. What is it you've heard?"
"Only very little. According to the rumour, the police found at theVilla Verde, out at Tivoli, after he had gone, the dead body of a younglady locked in the study. It was at once hushed up, and not a word ofit has been allowed to get into the papers. The Government gave ordersto the police, I suppose, to suppress it, fearing to make the scandalgraver. I heard it, however, on very good authority from my son who isin the _carabinieri_ and stationed at Tivoli. The body, he says, wasthat of a well-dressed young lady about twenty-six or seven. When thecarabineers went with the _commissario_ to seal up the fugitive'seffects, they found the body lying full length on the carpet. She stillhad her hat on and seemed as though she had suddenly fallen dead.Another curious thing is that the doctors discovered no wound, and don'tseem to know what was the cause of her death."
"That's strange!" I remarked. "I suppose they photographed the body?"
"Of course. But the portrait hasn't been published because the policeare compelled to hush up the affair."
"Does your son know any further particulars, I wonder?"
"No more than what he's told me. He says that quite a number of secretpolice agents have been over to Tivoli trying to establish the lady'sidentity, and that they think they know who she was. He was here onlyyesterday and we were talking about it."
"And who do they think she wa
s?"
"Well, my son has, of course, a lot to do with the police, and a fewdays ago a friend of his of the _squadra mobile_ told him that they hadestablished the fact that the dead girl was English."
"English! Do they know her name?"
"No, only they say that she was in Rome a great deal last winter, andwas seen generally in the company of a tall, dark, English girl, herfriend. Indeed, they say that both of them were seen in the Corso,accompanied by a middle-aged English gentleman, about a week beforeNardini took to flight. They had apparently returned to Rome."
"And they know none of their names?"
"They've found out that the English signore