until morning.
I recognised into what deadly peril my intrepidity had now led me. Ifthey detained me the discovery of the tragedy and robbery at the VillaVerde would certainly be made, and I should find myself implicated withthose three assassins. The circumstantial evidence against me would bevery strong, and it might be many months before I regained my freedom.In such circumstances I should, alas! lose my Ella for ever!
"My name is Godfrey Leaf, native of London," was my reply.
"And what brings you here? You certainly haven't walked fromPalestrina. You'd be more dusty than you are."
"Of course he would," remarked the man's companion, shifting his carbineto his other shoulder. "He's lying."
"Well," I said, feigning to be insulted by the fellow's inquiries, "whyshould I tell you my business? It is no affair of yours, surely. Doyou think I'm an assassin, or on my way to rob some _contadini_ of hispoultry?"
"We can never tell a man by his dress. Besides, how are we to know whoyou are--that you are really the person you say?"
I was silent. His question was an awkward one. But suddenly Irecollected.
"Well, perhaps this will convince you that I'm a respectable person,eh?" And taking from my pocket-book my Italian revolver licence Ihanded it to him. He opened it suspiciously, then said; "Come fartherdown with us, to that light, and let's have a good look at you."
Now an Italian licence to carry a revolver is a very different documentfrom that in England. It is issued only in very rare cases by thepolice themselves to responsible persons who first have to show thatthey are in danger of their lives from _vendetta_ or some other cause,and that to carry a weapon is for them personal defence. Upon thelicence is the minute police description of the person to whom it isissued, as well as his signature, while the document is alsocountersigned by the Prefect of the city whence it is issued. It istherefore the best of all identification papers.
Obeying the guards, I walked with them down to the light at the towngateway where they read the official permit, closely scrutinising me asthey reached each individual description, colour of hair and eyes, shapeof nose, forehead and head, and the dozen other small details, all ofwhich they found tallied with the licence.
"Born in London and domiciled in Milan, I see," remarked the carabineer.
"I was living in Milan when I applied to the Public Security Departmentfor the permit."
"Well," he said, "it's lucky for you you had it upon you, otherwise youmight have spent a day or two in prison for the untruth you told us."And he handed back the licence to me with a grim smile. "Perhaps you'lltell me now where you really have been?"
I saw it necessary to alter my tactics, therefore I answered with alaugh:--
"To tell the truth I came out from Rome last night to keep anappointment--a secret one--with a lady--if you really must know."
"Then you'd better go back again to Rome," was his answer, apparentlywell satisfied, and believing that story more probable. "There's atrain in twenty minutes or so, and we'll see you into it. We are on ourway to the station."
From that moment we grew friendly, for the carabineers are a splendidbody of picked men, and are always polite to the foreigner.
"You were coming down from the villa yonder," explained the man who hadinterrogated me half apologetically. "Therefore we had to ascertain whoyou were."
"What villa do you mean?"
"The Onorovele Nardini's. He's absconded, as I daresay you've heard."
"Ah?" I said, "I did read in the English journals something about it.And did he live up there?"
"Yes. At the big villa. You must have passed it. He used to live herea great deal, and every one believed him to be an honest man."
"Wasn't he?"
"_Dio_ no! He got a million francs of the public money, and no oneknows what has become of it." Was either of these men the son of theold concierge in the Via del Tritone, I wondered? I longed to ask them,but dare not. They, of course, told me nothing regarding the mysteriousdiscovery of a woman's body in the ex-Minister's study. Perhaps,indeed, they, like all others outside the confidential branch of thepolice service, were ignorant of it.
"And doesn't any one know where he is?" I asked, as we strolled atlength upon the dark platform of the railway station.
"Oh! He's _in estero_ somewhere. We shall never get him, you may besure. When once a man like that gets over the frontier he's gone forever."
What, I wondered, would these two men think when, on the morrow, thetruth of what had occurred at the Villa Verde became revealed! The bodyof the detective would be found, and another mystery would succeed theone which was being so carefully suppressed.
Both men accepted cigarettes from my case as we idled up and down theplatform awaiting the train for Rome. It was their duty to meet all thenight trains and note all arrivals and departures, therefore we passedan idle half-hour gossiping pleasantly until the train drew up, andentering a first-class compartment I bade them farewell and breathedfreely again as we moved off towards the "Eternal City."
The instant the train was clear of the station I saw my imminent peril.By ill-fortune these guards had met me, they had read my name, seen mydescription, and knew me well. As soon as the discovery was made in theVilla Verde--indeed, at any moment--they would telegraph those detailsall over the country and eagerly seek to arrest me as an accomplice.Whether Miller and his friends were arrested or not, they wouldnaturally connect me with the affair. That was but natural.
Fortunately I had succeeded in impressing upon them that I was arespectable person, but I recognised that if I desired to retain myliberty--my liberty to free my love from that mysterious bond which heldher to a scoundrel--I must escape from Italy both immediately andsecretly.
Before arrival in Rome I took off the gold pince-nez I habitually wore,discarded my collar and cravat, tied my handkerchief around my neck inattempt at disguise, and so passed the barrier. Afterwards I walkedsome distance, and then took a cab to the hotel.
At eight o'clock, with a ticket for Florence by way of Pisa, I was inthe express for the frontier at Modane. I purposely took a ticket forFlorence, and then from Pisa, at two o'clock in the afternoon, I tookanother ticket to Turin. If my departure had been noted, they wouldsearch for me in Florence.
That journey was, perhaps, one of the most exciting in all my life. Itravelled third-class, attired in an old suit, old boots, and ahandkerchief tied about my neck. In Turin I had four hours to wait, asthe express to Paris did not convey third-class passengers, and thosefour hours passed slowly, for being a constant traveller I was known bysight by the waiters in the buffet and many officials. Therefore I wascompelled to avoid them. Besides, was I not still in Italy? The policehad no doubt already discovered what had occurred at the Villa Verde,and from Rome my description had probably been telegraphed along everyline of railway.
Next morning, however, before it was light, I descended from theomnibus-train that had crawled up the Alpine slopes and through the MontCenis tunnel, and found myself upon the long dreary platform at theFrench frontier, Modane.
I had now to face the pair of scrutinising Italian detectives who I knewstood at the door of the Custom House watching every one who leaves thecountry.
It was a breathless moment. If I passed them without recognition Ishould be free. If not--well it would mean disaster, terrible andcomplete, both for me and to the woman I so dearly loved.
I was risking all, for her sake, because she was mine. I was strivingto solve the mystery, and to gain knowledge that would place her beyondthe reach of that blackguard who held her so irrevocably in his power.
Summoning all my courage I gripped the bundle which contained a fewnecessaries--for the remainder of my luggage I had sent direct toCharing Cross and posted the receipt for it to my club--and went forwardinto the Custom House, displaying my belongings to the French_douanier_.
They had been vised, I had tied them up again in the big handkerchief,and was passing out.
Another moment and I should be upon French territory.
Suddenly, however, a heavy hand was placed upon my shoulder, and a voiceexclaimed in Italian:--
"One moment! Excuse me. I have a word to say to you!"
Turning with a start I faced a short man in a light tweed suit, whilebehind him stood the two detectives.
My heart sank within me. I knew that the affair at the Villa Verde hadbeen discovered, and that I was lost!
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.
LOVE IN FETTERS.
"Just step in here one moment," said the man in the grey suit. "I wantto ask you a question." And he conducted me to a small office at thefarther end of the platform, the bureau of the Italian police.
"Now who are