"I am in active search of Signor Massari, and have come post-haste
across Europe in order to find him. This lady says he has been here,
but has left. You, I understand, speak Italian and have had several
conversations with him?"
I glanced quickly at Miss Gilbert. She had not told the visitor the sad
truth, therefore I was compelled to sustain the fiction that the dead
man had left.
The landlady's daughter, apparently unable to further evade her
visitor's eager questions, excused herself and left us alone together.
The instant she had gone the visitor rose with a quick _frou-frou_ of
silken underskirts, and closing the door turned to me with a deep
earnest look, saying in a low voice scarcely above a whisper:--
"Let me confess the truth, sir! I am in a most deadly peril, and yet
utterly defenceless. I have come direct from Rome in order to overtake
the man who has called himself Massari. I must find him, at all
hazards. If he chooses to speak--to tell the truth--then he can save my
life. If not, I'm lost. Will you help me to discover him? Perhaps you
know where he has gone? I throw myself upon your sympathy--upon your
mercy. See!" she cried hoarsely, with a wild look in her beautiful
eyes, for she was indeed desperate, "I am begging of you, a perfect
stranger, begging for my freedom, for my woman's honour--nay for my
life!"