"The Marchesa di Sant' Eustachio, if you please."
The mention of her name caused a visible stir of interest, and the
police looked uneasy. The one who had not spoken drew her on one side.
"Eccellenza," he said civilly, "it is all doubtless as you say; but,
permit me, had you anything in your purse which you could identify?"
"I had next to nothing. Four or five lire, perhaps. But how can you
doubt, when it is so perfectly clear?"
"A hundred pardons, eccellenza; it is a great pity you did not catch him
in the act. Then! As it is--you heard his story--who knows?"
And he also spread his hands.
By this time Teresa was pale, and very angry indeed, for she saw that
the guardie were afraid.
"If you let him go," she remarked quietly, "I shall certainly report
you."
The officer still hesitated, and the situation was becoming
embarrassing, when a man's voice said in English--
"Can I be of any use?"
The marchesa turned impetuously.
"Oh, Mr Wilbraham, I am so glad to see you! Please back me up."
"Of course, of course," said Wilbraham hastily. "Let me first get you
out of this crowd," he added, looking round him with an Englishman's
horror of anything approaching to a scene.
"Not yet," said Teresa. "That man took my purse in the most barefaced
manner, and they are evidently afraid of him, and inclined to let him
go."
"I'll see to it, only let me put you into a cab."
"Thank you," she was beginning stiffly, when the guardia once more came
to her side.
"With your excellency's permission we will take his name and address,
and keep him under supervision. We can then lay our hands upon him if
required."
"It is not likely that he will give you the right particulars," said
Donna Teresa scornfully.
"Eccellenza, it is a mere form. He is very well known."
"As you please. I cannot oblige you to do your duty, only you must
understand that I shall complain to the questura."
She turned sharply away, without flinging a glance upon Wilbraham, but
when she had gone a few yards she heard one woman say to another--
"Ah, they would not arrest him--not they!"
Teresa stopped.
"Who is he?"
The woman hesitated.
"Eh, madama?"
"So you are afraid, too!" said Teresa imperiously. "Don't you see it is
over?"
The second woman, who was younger, broke in with an expressive gesture.
"Eh, that it true! It is over, poor fellow, thanks to the Madonna! As
for who he is, he is the Cesare who shot his sister a little while ago."
"His sister!" repeated Donna Teresa, shocked. "Do you mean that he
murdered her?"
"Murdered! _ma che_!" said the woman indignantly. "He loved her. He
was an excellent brother. As for her"--she shrugged her shoulders--"she
was no good, and would not listen, so he shot her--and him. Only,
unluckily, _he_ was not killed."
Teresa, feeling that she was suddenly rubbing shoulders with a tragedy,
had forgotten her own annoyance and herself. She asked quickly--
"But why was not this Cesare punished?"
"For what, madama? He was an excellent brother."
"And my husband said they made the court ring when he was acquitted,"
chimed in the second woman.
There was a momentary silence before Teresa became aware of a voice at
her elbow--
"Hadn't we better--"
"Why does he pick pockets? Is he so poor?" she demanded abruptly,
paying no attention.
"Oh, it was not he, madama," said the younger woman, with a laugh; "it
was not he. Probably he picked it up; what did he say? As for being
poor--yes. But he would not steal, not Cesare!"
Donna Teresa, asking no more questions, walked, frowning, towards the
church. Wilbraham, relieved that this part of the episode was ended,
remarked--
"You won't find Miss Brodrick."
She stopped with a laugh.
"I had forgotten. I suppose I was walking mechanically. Where is she
then?"
"She drove away with a lady, and asked me to look after you. I wish I
had reached you a little earlier."
"Oh, it did well enough," said the marchesa absently.
"I hope you didn't lose much?"
"What you would call nothing. I ought to have been more careful, for
the churches swarm with pickpockets, and the police are quite useless,
as you saw."
"Well, certainly they couldn't be called energetic."
"I thought you took their view of the case?" But the instant she had
shot her little dart she looked at him, and laughed frankly again.
"Perhaps it was as well. Perhaps he didn't take it, after all."
"I fancied you were quite sure?"
"Oh--sure? You were all so lukewarm," retorted Teresa. "Besides, I
have just heard his history. Not long ago he shot his sister."
"Accidentally?"
"No; deliberately."
"The villain!" said Wilbraham. "And is still unhung!"
"Those women considered him a hero. I am afraid she wasn't very nice."