Here again I am denied. I have not, I admit,” he said, with that naiveté which was his charm, “even in my life provided myself with a wife. That was an oversight for which I am now being punished.”

He stopped as a tall officer in the uniform of the carbineers came swinging across the Piazza del Campo, and Antonio Festini instinctively stepped away from his master’s side.

The two spoke together, and by and by, with a little nod of farewell and a fleeting shadow of pity in his eyes, Tillizini accompanied the tall officer in the direction of the Palazzo Festini.

Antonio watched him until he was out of sight. Then he resumed his aimless pacing up and down the Piazza, his hands behind his back, his head sunk forward on his breast.

Tillizini accompanied the tall officer to the Festini Palace. He pulled the rusty bell that hung by the side of the great door, and was admitted.

He was conducted with all the ceremony which his obvious rank demanded—for was not there an officer of carbineers accompanying him, and did not that officer treat him with great deference?—to the big salon of the Festinis.

It was an apartment bleak and bare. The ancient splendours of the painted ceiling were dim and dingy, the marble flagged floor was broken in places, and no attempt had been made to repair it. The few chairs, and the French table which had been pushed against the wall, seemed lost in that wilderness of chilly marble.

In a few moments Count Festini came in. He was still dressed in his velvet coat and waistcoat, and the riding breeches and boots which he and his sons invariably wore, for they were great horsemen, and had but that one taste in common.

He favoured Tillizini with a bow, which the professor returned.

“I am at your Excellency’s disposition,” he said formally, and waited.

“Count Festini,” said Tillizini, “I have come upon an unpleasant mission.”

“That is regrettable,” said Count Festini shortly.

“It is my duty to ask you to allow me to conduct a personal examination of your papers.”

“That is not only unfortunate, but outrageous,” said Festini, yet without the sign of irritation which the carbineer officer, his fingers nervously twitching the whistle which would summon his men, had expected.

“It is not my wish,” Tillizini went on, “to make this visit any more disagreeable to your Excellency than is necessary, therefore I ask you to regard me rather as a friend who desires to clear your name from aspersions which——”

“You will spare me your speeches,” said Count Festini shortly. “I know you, Paulo Tillizini. I thought you were a gentleman, and entrusted you with the education of my son. I find you are a policeman. In these days,” he shrugged his shoulders—“the Italian nobility—and if I remember aright, you come from the house of one Buonsignori?——”

Tillizini bowed.

“In these days,” Festini went on, “it is necessary, I presume, for our decaying nobility to find some means of providing portions for their marriageable daughters.”

“In my case,” said Tillizini, “that is unnecessary.”

He spoke suavely and calmly: every word which Count Festini had uttered was, by the code which both men understood, a deadly insult. Yet Tillizini preserved the same outward show of unconcern which Festini had seen so disastrously reproduced in his son.

“I can only add,” the old man went on, “this one fact—that to whatever depths a member of a noble house may sink in assisting the State to bring justice to the men who are setting the laws of the country at defiance, it is possible, Signor, for a man to sink still, lower, and to be one of those whose dreadful acts, and whose cruel practices, set the machinery of the law in motion.”

He spoke in his passionless, even tones, and a red flush crept over the Count’s face.

“You may search as you wish,” he said. “My house is at your disposition. Here are my keys.”

He produced from his pocket a steel ring on which a dozen keys hung.

Tillizini made no attempt to take them.

“If you will conduct me to your bedroom,” he said, “I shall not trouble you with any further search.”

For a second only Count Festini hesitated. A swift cloud of apprehension passed across his face. Then with a bow he extended his hand to the door.

He followed them into the hall and led the way up the stairs. His room was a large one, facing the road. It was as poorly furnished as the remainder of the house. Tillizini closed the door behind him, and the officer stood, barring all egress.

“Here are my keys.”

Again Count Festini held out the polished bunch.

“Thank you, I do not want them,” said Tillizini. He stood squarely before the man. “I think it is as well, Count,” he said gently, “that I should tell you what I know. Four days ago a man was arrested in the act of placing a bomb on the railway line between Rome and Florence. He was apparently a new recruit, but after he was arrested it was discovered that he was a man who stood very high in the councils of the Florentine branch of your excellent society.”

Festini said nothing. He listened with every interest.

“In some way,” Tillizini went on, “this man had discovered many secrets which I am sure the ‘Red Hand’ had no intention of revealing. He may have acted as secretary to one of the heads of your Order. At any rate, he knew that documents incriminating yourself and a very large number of influential people in Italy were secreted in this house.”

“Indeed!” said Festini, coldly. “You have the keys; you may verify for yourself the truth of your informant’s statement.” Again Tillizini made no attempt to take the keys from him.

“He knew more than I have told,” he said slowly. “He indicated to me a hiding-place which I gather is known only to you and to the leaders of your band.”

He walked to the end of the room, where four long windows lit the apartment. Between the second and the third hung a picture in a deep gold frame.