"Signori," began Hillard calmly, "before you act, will you not do me the honor to explain to me the meaning of this visit?"

"It is not he!" said one of the carabinieri. "It is the master, and not the servant. This is Signore Hillar, is it not?" he continued, addressing himself to Hillard.

"Yes."

"The signore has a servant by the name of Giovanni?"

"Yes. And what has he done to warrant this visit?" Hillard asked less calmly.

"It is a matter of seven years," answered the spokesman. "Your servant attempted to kill an officer in Rome. Luigi here, who was then interested in the case in Rome, thought he recognized Giovanni in the street to-day. Inquiries led us here."

"Ah!" Hillard thought quickly. "I am afraid that you have had your trouble for nothing. Giovanni is now a citizen of the United States, under full protection of its laws, domestic and foreign. It would not be wise for you to touch him."

The carabinieri stared at each other. They shrugged.

"Signore, we recognize no foreign citizenship for our countrymen who, having committed a crime, return to the scene of it. We are here to arrest him. He will be tried and sentenced. But it is possible that he may be allowed to return to America, once he has been proved guilty of intent to kill."

Hillard flushed, but he curbed the rise in his temper. It was enough that the United States was made the dumping-ground of the criminal courts of Europe, without having it forced upon him in this semi-contemptuous fashion. The carabinieri saw the effort.

"The signore speaks Italian so well that he will understand that we have nothing to do with deportation. Our business is simply to arrest offenders against the State. It is to the State you must look for redress; and here the State is indifferent where the offender goes, so long as it is far away." The speaker bowed ceremoniously.

"Yes, I understand. But I repeat, my servant is a legal citizen of the United States, and there will be complications if you touch him."

"Not for us. That rests between you and the State. Our orders are to arrest him."

"At any rate, it looks as though Giovanni had been forewarned of your visit. And may I ask, what is the name of the officer Giovanni attempted to kill?"

"It is not necessary that you should know."

Hillard accepted the rebuke with becoming grace.

"And now, signore," with the utmost courtesy, "permit us to apologize for this intrusion. We shall wait in the hall, and if we find Giovanni we shall gladly notify you of the event."

The two officers bowed and passed out into the corridor. Hillard raised his hat, and closed the door.

"Now, what the deuce has all this powwow been about?" demanded Merrihew; for he had understood nothing, despite his How to Speak Italian in One Day.

"It's that rascal Giovanni."

"Did he find his man and cut him up?"

"No. It seems that these carabinieri have remark-able memories; the old affair. Poor devil! I can't imagine how they traced him here. But I repeatedly warned him about going abroad in the daylight. Hello, what's this?" going to the table. It was a note addressed to him; and it was from the fugitive.

Hillard passed the note to Merrihew.

"That's too bad. I've taken a great fancy to him. It seems that the peasant has no chance on this side of the water. His child a painted dancer in Paris, and a price on his own head! It's hard luck. And the fellow who caused all this trouble goes free."

"He always goes free, Dan, here or elsewhere."

"Why, we'd have lynched him in America."

"That's possible. We are such an impulsive race," ironically. "Yes, no doubt we'd have lynched him; and these foreigners would have added another ounce of fact to their belief that we are still barbarians."

"I hadn't thought of that," Merrihew admitted. Till now he had never cared particularly whether a foreigner's opinion was favorable or not.

"No, but when you start for home you will always think of it. Our reporters demand of the foreigner, barely he has stepped ashore, what he thinks of the United States; and then nearly every one he meets helps to form the opinion that we are insufferably underbred. Ours is not studied incivility; it is worse than that; it is downright carelessness."

"I am beginning to see things differently. When the concierge tips his hat, I tip mine. Since Giovanni is gone, suppose we pack up? There's little to do, as the trunks are as we left them. But I say, how is it that all these carabinieri we see are so tall? The Neapolitan is invariably short and thick-set."

"They come from the north as far as Domo d'Ossola; mountaineers. Italy has a good policy regarding her military police. The Neapolitan is sent north and the Venetian and Tuscan south, out of reach of family ties and feuds. Thus, there is never any tug between duty and friendship. The truth is, the Italian is less inclined toward duty than toward friendship. This isolation makes the carabinieri the right hand of the army, and no other soldier in Europe is half so proud of his uniform, not even the German. The people smile as they pass, you will notice always in pairs; but when they are in trouble, these weather-vane people, they fly straight to the carabinieri. Imagine the cocksureness and insolence we'd have suffered from two New York policemen, had we found them in our homes! Oh, I have a soft spot for the carabinieri. You will find no brigands in Italy now; that is because the carabinieri are everywhere, silent, watchful, on highways, in the mountains, in all villages and in all stations. I have never seen one of them ogle a woman. And never ask them where your hotel is, or the station, or such and such a street. They will always tell you, but they secretly resent it."

"I'll remember; but so far as I'm concerned, they'd have an easy time of it. Why, I couldn't ask a question in billboard Italian. Now, out with it; where and how did you learn that Kitty is in Venice?"

Hillard told him briefly.

"And so they are all in Venice, broke? By George, here's our chance; everlasting gratitude and all that. We'll bail 'em out and ship 'em home! How is that for a bright idea?" Merrihew had regained his usual enthusiasm.

"Let me see," said Hillard practically. "There are five of them: five hundred for tickets and doubtless five hundred more for unpaid hotel bills. It would never do, Dan, unless we wish to go home with them."

"But I haven't touched my letter of credit yet. I could get along on two thousand."

"Not with the brand of cigars you are smoking; a lira-fifty each."

"Well I'll try the native brand for a while, Trabucos."

"Not in my immediate vicinity," Hillard objected. "No, we can't bail them out, but we can ease up their bills till money comes from home. Not one of them by this time will have a watch. O'Mally will remain sober from dire necessity. Poor Kitty Killigrew! All the wonderful shops and not a stiver in her pockets!"

"Aren't they the most careless lot, these professional people? They never prepare for emergencies, and are always left high and dry. Instead of putting their cash in banks, they buy diamonds, with the idea that they have always something convertible into cash at a moment's notice."

"Usually at one-third of what the original price was." Hillard threw off his hat and coat and lighted his pipe.

Merrihew paced the floor for some time, his head full of impossible schemes. He stopped in the middle of the room with an abruptness which portended something.

"I have it. Instead of going directly to Venice, we'll change the route and go to Monte Carlo. I'll risk my four hundred, and if I win!"

"Then the announcement cards, a house-wedding, and pictures in the New York papers. Dan, you are impossible. You have gambled enough to know that when you are careless of results you win, but never when you need the cash. But it is Monte Carlo, if you say so. Two or three days there will cure you of your beautiful dream. After all," with a second thought, "it's a good cause, and it might be just your luck to win. The masquerading lady! I'll stake my word that there is comedy within comedy, and rare good comedy at that. Monte Carlo it is."

Merrihew danced a jig. Hillard stepped to the mirror and bowed profoundly. The jig ceased.

"Madame, permit me, a comparative stranger, to offer you passage money home. We won it at Monte Carlo; take it, it is yours. Polite enough," mused Hillard, turning and smiling; "but hanged if it sounds proper."

"To the deuce with propriety!" cried Merrihew buoyantly. "We'll start, then, at nine to-morrow?"

"At nine promptly."

"I'm off to bed, then." As Merrihew reached the door he paused. "I forgot to tell you. Do you recollect that Italian you ran into at the club that night? Saw him at the hotel to-night. He bowed to Sandford, and Sandford cut him dead. It set me thinking."

"The Sandfords entertained him somewhere, once upon a time, and he behaved like a cad. I don't know what about, and I don't care."

"Humph! I hope Giovanni gets off safely."

"I think he will."

When Merrihew had gone Hillard opened the shutters to clear the room of the tobacco smoke, and stood beside the sill, absorbing the keen night air and admiring the serene beauty of the picture which lay spread before him. The moon stood high and clear now, the tiled roofs shone mistily, and from some near-by garden came the perfume of boxwood and roses. All was silence; noisy Naples slept. He would see her face this time; he would tear aside the mystery. She had made a great mistake? That was of small consequence to him. He could laugh at Mrs. Sandford's warning. He was no green and untried youth; he was a man. Then he laughed aloud. It was so droll. Here was Merrihew in love with the soubrette, and he himself.... Was he in love, or was only his fancy trapped? A fine comedy! The soubrette and the prima donna! He closed the shutters, for the Neapolitan is naturally a thief, and an open window is as large as a door to him. He packed his cases, and this done, went to bed. For a time he could hear Merrihew in the adjoining room; but even this noise ceased. Hillard fell asleep and dreamed that he and Giovanni were being pursued by carabinieri in petticoats and half-masks, that Merrihew had won tons of napoleons at Monte Carlo, and that Kitty Killigrew was a princess in disguise. Such is the vagary of dreams.