"One fact is plain. Vittorina must not come to England."
"Why? She, a mere inexperienced girl, knows nothing."
"Her presence here will place us in serious jeopardy. If she really
intends to visit London, then I shall leave this country at once. I
scent danger."
"As far as I can see, we have nothing whatever to fear. She doesn't
know half a dozen words of English, and London will be entirely strange
to her after Tuscany."
The face of the man who, while speaking, had raised his wine-glass was
within the zone of light cast by the pink-shaded lamp. He was about
twenty-eight, with dark eyes, complexion a trifle sallow, well-arched
brows, and a dark moustache carefully waxed, the points being trained in
an upward direction. In his well-cut evening clothes, Arnoldo Romanelli
was a handsome man, a trifle foppish perhaps; yet his features, with
their high cheek-bones, bore the unmistakable stamp of Southern blood,
while in his eyes was that dark brilliance which belongs alone to the
sons of Italy.
He selected some grapes from the silver fruit-dish, filled a glass with
water and dipped them in--true-bred Tuscan that he was--shook them out
upon his plate, and then calmly contemplated the old blue Etruscan
scarabaeus on the little finger of his left hand. He was waiting for
his companion to continue the argument.
The other, twenty years his senior, was ruddy-faced and clean-shaven,
with a pair of eyes that twinkled merrily, square jaws denoting
considerable determination, altogether a typical Englishman of the
buxom, burly, sport-loving kind. Strangely enough, although no one
would have dubbed Doctor Filippo Malvano a foreigner, so thoroughly
British was his appearance, yet he was an alien. Apparently he was in
no mood for conversation, for the habitual twinkle in his eyes had given
place to a calm, serious look, and he slowly selected a cigar, while the
silence which had fallen between them still remained unbroken.
The man who had expressed confidence again raised his glass to his lips
slowly, regarded his companion curiously across its edge, and smiled
grimly.
The pair were dining together in a large, comfortable but secluded house
lying back from the road at the further end of the quaint, old-world
village of Lyddington, in Rutland. The long windows of the dining-room
opened out upon the spacious lawn, the extent of which was just visible
in the faint mystic light of the August evening, showing beyond a great
belt of elms, the foliage of which rustled softly in the fresh night
wind, and still further lay the open, undulating country. Ever and anon
the wind, in soft gusts, stirred the long lace curtains within the room,
and in the vicinity the sweet mellow note of the nightingale broke the
deep stillness of rural peace.
Romanelli ate his grapes deliberately, while the Doctor, lighting his
long Italian cigar at the candle the servant handed him, rested both
elbows on the table and puffed away slowly, still deep in contemplation.
"Surely this girl can be stopped, if you really think there is danger,"
the younger man observed at last.
At that instant a second maid entered, and in order that neither
domestics should understand the drift of their conversation, the Doctor
at once dropped into Italian, answering--
"I don't merely think there's danger; I absolutely know there is."
"What? You've been warned?" inquired Arnoldo quickly.
The elder man raised his brows and slowly inclined his head.
Romanelli sprang to his feet in genuine alarm. His face had grown pale
in an instant.
"Good heavens!" he gasped in his own tongue. "Surely the game has not
been given away?"
The Doctor extended his palms and raised his shoulders to his ears.
When he spoke Italian, he relapsed into all his native gesticulations,
but in speaking English he had no accent, and few foreign mannerisms.
The two maid-servants regarded the sudden alarm of their master's guest
from London with no little astonishment; but the Doctor, quick-eyed,
noticed it, and, turning to them, exclaimed in his perfect English--
"You may both leave. I'll ring, if I require anything more."
As soon as the door had closed, Arnoldo, leaning on the back of his
chair, demanded further details from his host. He had only arrived from
London an hour before, and, half-famished, had at once sat down to
dinner.
"Be patient," his host said in a calm, strained tone quite unusual to
him. "Sit down, and I'll tell you." Arnoldo obeyed, sinking again into
his chair, his dark brows knit, his arms folded on the table, his eyes
fixed upon those of the Doctor.
Outwardly there was nothing very striking about either, beyond the fact
that they were foreigners of a well-to-do class. The English of the
elder man was perfect, but that of Romanelli was very ungrammatical, and
in both faces a keen observer might have noticed expressions of cunning
and craftiness. Any Italian would have at once detected, from the
manner Romanelli abbreviated his words when speaking Italian, that he
came from the Romagna, that wild hot-bed of lawlessness and anarchy
lying between Florence and Forli, while his host spoke pure Tuscan, the
language of Italy. The words they exchanged were deep and earnest.
Sometimes they spoke softly, when the Doctor would smile and stroke his
smooth-shaven chin, at others they conversed with a volubility that
sounded to English ears as though they were quarrelling.
The matter under discussion was certainly a strangely secret one.
The room was well furnished in genuine old oak, which bore no trace of
the Tottenham Court Road; the table was adorned with exotics, and well
laid with cut-glass and silver; while the air which entered by the open
windows was refreshing after the heat and burden of the August day.
"The simple fact remains, that on the day Vittorina sets foot in London
the whole affair must become public property," said Malvano seriously.
"And then?"
"Well, safety lies in flight," the elder man answered, slowly gazing
round the room. "I'm extremely comfortable here, and have no desire to
go wandering again; but if this girl really comes, England cannot
shelter both of us."
Romanelli looked grave, knit his brows, and slowly twirled the ends of
his small waxed moustache.
"But how can we prevent her?"
"I've been endeavouring to solve that problem for a fortnight past," his
host answered. "While Vittorina is still in Italy, and has no knowledge
of my address, we are safe enough. She's the only person who can expose
us. As for myself, leading the life of a country practitioner, I'm
respected by the whole neighbourhood, dined by the squire and the
parson, and no suspicion of mystery attaches to me. I'm buried here as
completely as though I were in my grave."
The trees rustled outside, and the welcome breeze stirred the curtains
within, causing the lamp to flicker.
"Yet you fear Vittorina!" observed the younger man, puzzled.
"It seems that you have no memory of the past," the other exclaimed, a
trifle impatiently. "Is it imperative to remind you of the events on a
certain night in a house overlooking the sea of Livorno; of the
mystery--"
"Basta!" cried the younger man, frowning, his eyes shining with
unnatural fire. "Can I ever forget them? Enough! All is past. It
does neither of us good to rake up that wretched affair. It is over and
forgotten."
"No, scarcely forgotten," the Doctor said in a low, impressive tone.
"Having regard to what occurred, don't you think that Vittorina has
sufficient incentive to expose us?"
"Perhaps," Romanelli answered in a dry, dubious tone. "I, however,
confess myself sanguine of our success. Certainly you, as an English
country doctor, who is half Italian, and who has practised for years
among the English colony in Florence, have but very little to fear. You
are eminently respectable."
The men exchanged smiles. Romanelli glanced at his ring, and thought
the ancient blue scarabaeus had grown darker--a precursory sign of evil.
"Yes," answered Malvano, with deliberation, "I know I've surrounded
myself with an air of the most severe respectability, and I flatter
myself that the people here little dream of my true position; but that
doesn't effect the serious turn events appear to be taking. We have
enemies, my dear fellow--bitter enemies--in Florence, and as far as I
can discern, there's absolutely no way of propitiating them. We are, as
you know, actually within an ace of success, yet this girl can upset all
our plans, and make English soil too sultry for us ever to tread it
again." A second time he glanced around his comfortable dining-room,
and sighed at the thought of having to fly from that quiet rural spot
where he had so ingeniously hidden himself.
"It was to tell me this, I suppose, that you wired this morning?" his
guest said.
The other nodded, adding, "I had a letter last night from Paolo. He has
seen Vittorina at Livorno. She's there for the sea-bathing."
"What did she say?"
"That she intended to travel straight to London."
"She gave him no reason, I suppose?" Arnoldo asked anxiously.
"Can we not easily guess the reason?" the Doctor replied. "If you
reflect upon the events of that memorable night, you will at once
recognise that she should be prevented from coming to this country."
"Yes. You are right," Romanelli observed in a tone of conviction. "I
see it all. We are in peril. Vittorina must not come."
"Then the next point to consider is how we can prevent her," the Doctor
said.
A silence, deep and complete, fell between them. The trees rustled, the
clock ticked slowly and solemnly, and the nightingale filled the air
with its sweet note.
"The only way out of the difficulty that I can see is for me to hazard
everything, return to Livorno, and endeavour by some means to compel her
to remain in Italy."
"But can you?"
Romanelli shrugged his shoulders. "There is a risk, of course, but I'll
do my best," he answered. "If I fail--well, then the game's up, and you
must fly."
"I would accompany you to Italy," exclaimed the other, "but, as you are
aware, beyond Modane the ground is too dangerous."
"Do you think they suspect anything at the Embassy?"
"I cannot tell. I called the other day when in London, and found the
Ambassador quite as cordial as usual."
"But if he only knew the truth?"
"He can only know through Vittorina," answered the Doctor quickly. "If
she remains in Italy, he will still be in ignorance. The Ministry at
Rome knows nothing, but her very presence here will arouse suspicion."
"Then I'll risk all, and go to Italy," said the younger man decisively.
"I don't relish that long journey from Paris to Pisa this weather.
Thirty-five hours is too long to be cramped up in that horribly stuffy
sleeping-car."
"If you go, you must start to-morrow, and travel straight through,"
urged the Doctor earnestly. "Don't break your journey, or she may have
started before you reach Livorno."
"Very well," his young companion answered. "I'll go right through, as
you think it best. If I start from here at six to-morrow morning, I
shall be in Livorno on Monday morning. Shall I wire to Paolo?"
"No. Take him by surprise. You'll have a far better chance of
success," urged the other; and, pushing the decanter towards him, added,
"Help yourself, and let's drink luck to your expedition."
Romanelli obeyed, and both men, raising their glasses, saluted each
other in Italian. The younger man no longer wore the air of gay
recklessness habitual to him, but took a gulp of the drink with a forced
harsh laugh. In the eyes of the usually merry village doctor there was
also an expression of doubt and fear. Romanelli was too absorbed in
contemplating the risk of returning to Italy to notice the strange
sinister expression which for a single instant settled upon his
companion's face, otherwise he might not have been so ready to adopt all
his suggestions. Upon the countenance of Doctor Malvano was portrayed
at that moment an evil passion, and the strange glint in his eyes would
in itself have been sufficient proof to the close observer that he
intended playing his companion false.
"Then you'll leave Seaton by the six-thirty, eh?" he inquired at last.
Romanelli nodded.
The Doctor touched the gong, and the maid entered. "Fletcher," he said,
"the Signore must be called at half-past five to-morrow. Tell Goodwin
to have the trap ready to go to Seaton Station to catch the six-thirty."
The maid withdrew, and when the door had closed, Malvano, his elbows on
the table, his cold gaze fixed upon his guest, suddenly asked in a low,
intense voice, "Arnoldo, in this affair we must have no secrets from
each other. Tell me the truth. Do you love Vittorina?" The foppish
young man started slightly, but quickly recovering himself, answered--
"Of course not. What absurd fancy causes you to suggest that?"
"Well--she is very pretty, you know," the Doctor observed ambiguously.
The young man looked sharply at his host. "You mean," he said, "that I
might make love to her, and thus prevent her from troubling us, eh?"