THE DAY Of TEMPTATION,

Cromwell Argus, Volume XLII, Issue 2238, 20 March 1911, Page 2

THE DAY Of TEMPTATION,

A STORY OF TWO CITIES, j * BY WILLIAM LE QTJEUX, hj Author of “If Sinners Entice Thee,” 1 i ‘A Secret Service,’’ “Guilty Bonds,” : e£c,, etc., etc. i j ' ALL EIGHTS RESERVED. \ \ "" VV ' . I’ 4 Surely you do not fear to travel with j 1 me, without regard for the con- i i vengnces ?’ he said. j ‘ Have we not already set them at j ; naught ?’ sheanswered, looking earnestly j i into his face. ‘Unfortunately I have j qo chaperone, no friends ; therefore, i ; iccorcling to Italian manners your pre- i , sence here, in my house, is against all j , she laws of etiquette,’ and she laughed a j strange hollow laugh through her tears, j ‘ We can, I think, Gemma, set aside j stiquette, loving each other as we do,’ j be exclaimed, pressing her hand. ‘ Let j us go together to London, and there : marry.’ ; ‘ Why not marry in Italy ?’ she suggested, " after a pause. ‘ Marriage at your British Consulate is binding.’ ! The mention of the Consulate brought j back to his memory all that Hutchinson , had said. Her words seemed to imply that she did not wish to leave Tuscany. ‘ Why in Italy ?’ he inquired. 4 You have no tie here ?’ She hesitated for a moment. * Ho, none whatever,’ she assured him, in a voice which sounded strangely harsh and Unconvincing. He attributed her agitation to the excitement of the mo- j ment and the fervency of her love. 4 Then why do you wish to remain ?’ he inquired bluntly. ‘I have reasons,’ she mechanically, her eyes slowly wandering around the room. Suddenly she rose and hastily snatching up an open letter that was lying upon the mantelshelf, crushed it within the palm of her gloved hand. He was sitting with his back to the mantel, therefore he saw j nothing of this strange ac tion, and be- j lieved, when she went out of the room ■ a moment later, that she went to speak , with her servant. j , True, she spoke some words with | , Margherita in the kitchen, but placing . the letter upon the burning charcoal, : ( she watched the flame slowly consume j it. _ i ] Then, with a parting order to Marg- ; herita, uttered in atone distinctly audible i , to her lover, she returned smilingly to • ( his side. j * Tor whut reason do you want to j remain here ?’ he inquired, when she j j had again reseated herself with a word j of apology for her absence. ( 4 lt is only natural that I should be loth to leave my own country,’ she | answered evasively, laughing. j | 4 No further motive ?’ he asked, a ; trifle incredulously. j | 4 Well, I have many acquaintances . in Florence, in Milan and Home.’ j | 4 And you desire to remain in Italy i on their account !’ he exclaimed. ( 4 Only the other day you expressed i satisfaction at the suggestion of leaving j Italy.’ 4 1 have since changed my mind,’ she | replied, in a low strained voice. 1 , 4 And you intend to remain !’ ! , 4 Not if .you are compelled to leave' Livorno, Nino,’ she answered, with that , sweet smile which always entranced i him. i in her attitude he detected mystery. [ She appeared striving to hide from him , some important fact, and lie suddenly , 1 determined to discover what was its ! nature. Why, he wondered, should she i I desire to remain in Tuscany after the satisfaction she had already expressed at y the prospect of life in England. ' 1 4 1 am compelled to go to-night,’ he said. 4 The train leaves at half-past 1 ' nine, and we shall take the full waggon-lit from Pisa to Paris at midnight. If you’ll bo ready I’ll wire to i Home to secure our berths in the car.’ 4 Then you really mean to leave ?’ j she asked, in a tone of despair. 4 Certainly,’ he replied, puzzled at her strange manner. 4 It will perhaps be better for me to remain,’ she observed with a deep sigh. 4 Why ?’ 4 If we married you would tire of me , very, very soon. Besides, you really ; know so little of me,’ and she regarded him gravely with her great clear wideopen eyes. j 4 Ah ; that’s just it!’ ho cried. 4 You I have told me nothing.’ j She shrugged her shoulders with a i careless air, and smiled. I 4 You have never inquired,’ she | answered. i 4 Then I ask now,’ he said. j 4 And I am unable to answer you—j unable to tell the truth, Nino,’ she re- ! plied brokenly, her trembling hand j seeking his. 4 Why unable ?’ he demanded, sitting : erect, and staring at her in blank surprise. ! 4 Because —because I love you too well to deceive you,’ she sobbed. Then ' she added: 4 No, after all, it will be ; best for us to part—best for you. If ' you knew all, as you must some day; if we married, you would only hate , me,’ and she burst into a torrent of •' blinding tears. 4 Hate you, piccina, why! ’ he asked, . uttering the term of endearment which j she had taught him in the early days of J their acquaintance, and slipping his arm I around her slim waist. | With a sudden movement she raised , her veil and wiped away the tears with 1 her little lace handkerchief. ■ 4 Ah! forgive me,’ she exclaimed, apologetically. 4 1 did not believe 1 was 1 so weak. But I love you, Nino. I cannot bear the thought of being parted from you.’ 4 There is surely no necessity to part,’ he said, purposely disregarding the | strange self-accusation she had just j uttered. j 4 You must go to Paris. Therefore > we must part,’ she said, sighing deeply, j 4 Then you will not accompany me?’ . Her blue eyes, childlike in their j innocence, were fixed upon his. They | were again filled with tears. 4 For your sake it is best that we should part,’ she answered hoarsely. 4 Why? I cannot understand your meaning,’ he cried. 4 We love one another. What do you fear ?’ 1 ‘ I fear myself.’ i * Yourself!’ he echoed. Then, draw-1

ing her closer to him, he exclaimed in a low, intense voice, ‘ Come, Gemma, confide in me. Tell me why you desire to remain here; why you are acting so j strangely to-clay ?’ j She rose slowly from the divan, a 1 slim, woful figure, and swayed unevenly as she answered: 1 * No, Nino. Do not ask me.’ j ‘ But you still love me ?’ he deli manded, earnestly. ‘ Have you not just 1 expressed readiness to marry me ?’ j ‘ True,’ she replied, pale and trembli ing. ‘ I will marry you if you remain j here, in Livorno. But if you leave—if , you leave, then we must part.’ j ‘My journey is absolutely necessary,’ Ihe declared. ‘lf it were not, I should ; certainly remain with you.’ i ‘ln a week, or a fortnight at most, I you can return, I suppose. Till then, I i shall remain awaiting you.’ | ‘ No,’ he replied firmly. ‘ When I 1 leaw Italy I shall not return.’ Then, | after a slight pause, he added in a low I sympathetic tone : ‘ Some secret op- | presses you, Gemma. Why not take 1 me into your confidence ? ’ j ‘ Because —well, because it is utterly | impossible,’ she stammered, in a low, 1 tremulous tone. j ‘ Impossible! Yet we love .one j another. Is your past such a profound "ret, then ? ’ i ‘ All of us, I suppose, have our ‘ secrets, Nino,’ she replied earnestly, j ‘l, like others, have mine.’ I •Isit of such a character that I, your affianced husband, must not know ? ’ he asked in a voice of bitter reproach. 1 ‘Yes,’ she answered nervously. ‘ Even to you, the rnau I love, I am unable to divulge the stra ge story which must remain locked for ever within my heart.’ ‘Then you have no further confiJ dence in me ? ’ he observed, despairingly. ‘ Ah! Yes, I have, Nino. It is my inability to tell everything, to explain myself, and to present my actions to you in a true light, that worries me so.’ ‘ But why can’t you tell me everything?’ he demanded. ‘ Because I fear to.’ I * I love you, Gemma,’ he assured her I tenderly. ‘ Surely you do not doubt ■ the strength of my affection ?’ j ‘ No,’ she whispered, agitated, her ■! trembling fingers closing upon his. ‘ I i know you love me. What I fear is the I dire consequences of the exposure of my I secret.’ ; ‘ Then, to speak plainly, you are in ‘ dread of the actions of some person | who holds power over you,’ he ; hazarded. • She was silent. Her heart heal 1 wildly, her breast heaved and fell quickly, her chin sauk upon her chest . in an attitude of utter dejection, j ‘ Have 1 guessed the truth ?’ he asked ! in a calm serious voice. t She nodded in the affirmative, with a deep-drawn sigh. ‘ Who is this person whom you fear ?’ j he inquired, after a pause brief and ] painful. ‘Ah !’ no, Nino,’ she burst forth, | trembling with agitation she had vainly | striven to suppress. ‘Do not ask me ■ that. 1 can never tell you —never.’ I ‘ But you must —you shall 1’ he cried . fiercely. ‘ 1 love you, and will protect ' you from all your enemies, whoever I they may be.’ ‘ Impossible,’ she answered despairingly. ‘ No, let us part. You can have I no faith in me after my wretched admis- ; sions of to-day,’ , ‘ 1 still have every faith in you, darling,’ he hastened to reassure her. . ‘ Only tell ,me everything, and set my j mind at rest.’ ' ‘ No,’ she protested. ‘ I can tell you nothing—absolutely nothing.’ j ‘ You prefer, then, that we should be j put asunder, rather than answer my ; questions ?’ >. ‘I cannot leave Italy with you,’ she | answered simply, but harshly, j ‘ Not if we were to marry in England j as soon as the legal formalities can be accomplished ?’ ‘ 1 am ready to marry you here —today if you desire,’ she said. ‘ But I ■ shall not go to London,’ ‘ Why ?’ ‘ I have reasons. Strong ones,’ she answered vehemently, with a slight shrug of fyer shoulders. ‘ Then your enemies are in London !’ he said quickly. ‘ Are they English '? At that instant the door hell rang loudly, and both listened intently as ; Margherita answered the somewhat ' Impetuous summons. There were j sounds of low talking, and a few moments later the servant, pale-faced and scared, entered the room, saying—- ‘ Signorina ! There are two officers J of police in the house, and they wish to j speak with you immediately.’ | ‘ The police ! ’ Gemma gasped, j trembling. ‘ Then they’ve discovered j me! ’ ! There was a look of unutterable terror I in her great blue eyes ; the light died . instantly out of her sweet face ; she reeled, and would have fallen had not > her lover sprung up and clasped her I tenderly. Her beautiful head with its ! masses of fair hair fell inert upon his ’ shoulder. This blow, added to the ! mental strain she had already under- • gone, had proved too much. ‘ Nino,’ she whispered hoarsely. ' 1 You still love me—you love me, don’t jrou ? And you will not believe what ■ they allege against me—not one single word ? ’ 1 CHAPTER XI. I | Silence is Best. j ‘Let the police enter,’ Armytagesaid, , still pressing her slim figure in his arms. 1 ‘ You know, Gemma, that I love you.’ : ‘ No, no,’ she cried, trembling, ‘ I will see them alone. I must sec them 1 alone.’ ‘ Why ?’ ‘ I cannot bear that you should stand by and hear the terrible charge against mej’she answered hoarsely. ‘ No, let i me go alone to them,’ and she struggled | to free herself. j But he grasped her slim wrist firmly, ' saying : j ‘ I love you and will be your pro- ; lector. If they make allegations against ■ | you they must prove them. I, the man | who is to be your husband, may surely . know the truth V’ ‘ But promise me that you will not heed what they say—you will not believe their foul, unfounded charges,’ she implored, lifting her pale face to his. 1 ‘ I believe implicitly in you, Gemma,’ he answered calmly, looking seriously 1 into her terror-stricken eyes. ‘ Let

them come in. v j Then, turning to the faithful Mar- . gherita, who had stood by in silence and wonderment, he added : , ‘ Ask them in.’ Gemma, her hand in that of her lover, stood blanched and trembling in the centre of the room, as the two police officers in plain clothes advanced, and encountering Armytage bowed with that politeness which an Italian, even though he may be an official, never fails to show to his superiors; j One was a tall, broad-shouldered, middle-aged man, with a pleasant face, a pair of dark piercing eyes, and tiny coal-black moustache, while the other was younger, and from the bronze of ; his countenance evidently a Sicilian. | ‘ We are police officers,’ the elder man | exclaimed, opening his coat and dis- ■ playing the badge of a delegato on his breast. ‘We would prefer to speak to | the signorina alone.’ I ‘ I am the closest friend of the signorina,’ Armytage said calmly. ‘I , am about to make her my wife.’ I The officer shrugged his shoulders, ex- ; hibited his palms, and a sarcastic smile , played about his lips. ■ ‘lf ] may presume to advise the signor conte,’ he said, still preserving his ineffable politeness, 1 1 certainly think that it would be best for both the signore and the signorina if I spoke to her alone.’ ; And Gemma, dinging to her lover, ; gazed imploringly into his face adding, ‘ Yes, caro. Let them speak to me alone.’ ‘ No,’ the young Englishman an- , swered firmly, i ‘ But the matter is a delicate one, ; i extremely delicate,’ urged the delegato. j j ‘ I certainly think that the signorina 1 should be allowed to decide whether or I not you should be present.’ ' ! j ‘ln a week or so we shall marry,’; i declared Armytage. ‘ What concerns ! the signorina also concerns myself.’ j I ‘To please me, caro, will you not go ■ I out of the room for a moment ?’ Gemma i cried, in a low voice of earnest supplica- 1 i tion. i | Her attitude was that of one whc ; feared the revelation of some terrible • secret, and in those moments her lovei ! had become filled with a keen desire ■ to penetrate the cloak of mystery which 1 enveloped her. She had told him i nothing of her past, and all these mysj terious e vents had occurred so suddenly j that he was bewildered. The earnest- ; ness of her appeals not to be present ; only stirred within him greater curiosity, : and a stronger desire to ascertain the , whole truth. In those moments her ; face, previously so bright and innocent, had grown perceptibly wo?n and haggard ; in her eyes was a look of blank , despair, and as he held her gloved hand, she seemed to quiver from head to foot. | ‘ No,’ he answered her, after a brie! silence. ‘ I have decided to remain and hear what the signor delegato has to say.’ ! The police officer and the trembling woman exchanged quick glances. In the officer’s gaze was a look of sym- : pathy, for perhaps her beauty had I softened his impressionable Italian 1 nature; in her blue eyes was ail ex- ; pressionof humiliation and abject fear. I ‘My mission is very quickly accomplished,’ the delegato exclaimed slowly. ‘You intend to arrest me!’ Gemma | cried, hoarsely, ‘ I—l have dreaded this for a long time past. 1 knew that, i I one day or other, you would come for j | me, and my reputation would be ruined j for ever.’ i 1 ‘ Listen, signorina,’ the official said, * i gravely. ‘ Certain information has been 1 obtained by the questore, and upon i that information 1 have been sent here . to you. I regret very much that the signore is determined to remain while I ! 1 speak to you, for it would have been far I better for both of you had this matter ! j been settled in private. But as h<? ; desires to hear all, I will proceed.’ j ‘ Yes,’ said Armytage, with a tender ■ pressure upon the little hand he held. I ‘ Speak, 1 am ready to hear all you have , ’ to say.’ : ‘Well,’ the police official continued, ■ ■ turning to Gemma, and hesitating ; , slightly in order to present the matter i jas politely as possible. ‘ Much as I regret to disturb you, signorina, the ; questore, after carefully considering ; certain statements before him, has decided that your presence is undesiri able in Livorno, and further, he wishes ■ j me to inform you that to-day you must , leave this citv.’ Gemma, her face white and drawn, humiliated and abased, sighed deeply, ; then breathed again more freely. She . had expected arrest, hut instead was ordered out of Livorno. To say the least, the police had been merciful towards her. ‘ Then I must leave to-day ?’ she repeated, mechanically. ‘ Yes, signorina. The penalty for remaining here after this order of the questore is immediate arrest,’ he said, j ‘ But why is such a course pursued ?’ i Armytage asked. ‘ Eor what reason is \ i the presence of the signorina delete- | rious to the city ? It all seems very ; j remarkable to me.’ ! i ‘ The information before the questore ! is of a confidential character, signore.’ j ‘Are you not aware of the allega- ■ tious against her ?’ I ‘ No, he replied. * I have only been ' deputed to warn her to leave Livorno.’ . { ‘ls such a measure frequently re- : sorted to ?’ | ‘ Usually we arrest the suspected | individual, question him, and after- ; wards deport him to the railway station jif there is not sufficient ground to justify a prosecution. In this case ■ there is just a simple warning. Only ( in very exceptional cases is the course ■ followed which the questore is now j pursuing,’ ‘ Then you have no knowledge of the actual charge in this case'?’ ; ‘ No, signore, I have not. But,’he added, 1 the signorina must herself know the reason.’ Armytage turned quickly to her. 1 Their eyes met for a single instant. Then she slowly nodded, saying in an indistinct voice : ! ‘Yes, yes, 1 know only too well the reason of this. I must leave Livorno, ’ leave Italy, my own country that I love, never to return.’ ‘ That would be the very best course to pursue,’ the delegato urged. ‘lf ■ you leave Italy, signorina, you will, I think, hear no more of the unfortunate affair. Indeed, I have strong reasons for believing that the questore has I acted in the manner he has done pur-

poseiy, m order that you should be afforded an opportunity to leave Italy.’ ‘ He tliinks that exile is preferable to imprisonment,’ slie said aloud, as if reflecting. ‘ Weil, perhaps he is right,’ aud she laughed a short, hollow laugh. ‘ Yes,’ urged Armytage, turning again to her. 4 You must leave tonight.’ She was silent. The police official exchanged glances with the tall goodlooking young Englishman, then said, bowing politely : i 4 1 will wish you adieu, signore. A i thousand pardons for disturbing you, i but it was my duty, therefore pray ; forgive me.’ ■ 4 Certainly, certainly,’ he replied, and , both men went out, bowing, leaving Armytage alone with the woman he loved. j 4 All this is strange, very strange,’ he j observed when they had gone. He was , puzzled, for after all he now knew no i more than what Consul Hutchinson had i already told him. ■ 4 Yes,’ she said slowly, in a voice! scarcely above a whisper. 4 To you it must appear extraordinary, but to me, j who expected and who dreaded it, it was ; only what might he anticipated. They have warned me out of Italy, it’s true, j but if they knew everything,’ she j added, 4 if ‘ they knew everything, Ij should to-night be placed in a criminal’s ! cell.’ | 4 Why ? ’ 4 Already I have told you it is ira-1 possible for me to explain,’ she answered vehemently, in her voluble Italian. 4 lf ; you really love me it is surely sufficient , to know that the police are in ignorance J of facts which I feared were revealed, ! and that they have not obtained the one j item of information necessary to effect ! my ruin and disgrace.’ ( 4 Why do you speak like this ?’ j he demanded, quickly. 4 Has your past life in Florence been so full of mystery that you fear its exposure ? ’ * There are certain matters which I desire to keep secret, which I will keep secret, even if it costs me the loss of you, the man I adore,’ she answered, 4 Then they are matters which surely concern me—if I am to he your husband,’ he said, gravely. 4 No,’ she answered calmly, still pale to the lips. 4 They only concern myself. I admit freely that there is a secret connected with my past—a secret which I shall strive to preserve, because its revelation would, I know, cause you, my beloved, much worry aud unnecessary pain. I therefore prefer to hide this truth and fight my enemies alone.’ 4 ls not this seci’et one that, before marrying you, I ought to know ?’ he demanded, earnestly. 4 lt cannot concern you in any way,’ she declared. 4 True, it has reference | to my past life, but surely you don’t | believe me to he an adventuress —do j you ?’ | 4 Of course not, piccina,’ he answered, | laughing as he again placed his arm tenderly round her waist. 4 You an ; adventuress ! What made you suggest j such a thing?’ ; 4 1 must be an enigma to you,’ she j said. 4 But, believe me, I would tell j ■ you everything if I could see that you i , could be benefited in the least. The j I story is a long and wretched one, and i i when I reflect upon the closed chapter | of ray life’s history I am always dolor- | ' ous and unhappy. The more so because \ I’m unable to confide in you, the man I j ; love.’ j i 4 Will you explain all to me some i : day V ’ he asked, in his ungrammatical ; i Italian. ! I 4 Yes, everything. At present, if I , j were to tell you, the result would only be disastrous to myself, and in all probability wreck your happiness, i Silence is best now—far the best.’ j His face wore a heavy expression ol disappointment and dissatisfaction, i Truth to tell, the whole matter was sc ; utterly inexplicable that he entertained serious misgivings. She noticed this, and raising her face, now no longer ! haggard, but pale and sweet-looking, she added: 4 Cannot you trust me further, , Nino ? ’ 4 Trust you, darling ? ’ he cried, i' Why of course I can. Only all this ' secrecy worries me.’ 4 Ah, no! Don’t think of it any 1 more,’ she urged. 4 To-night I will ; leave with you for Paris. I have a friend there to whom I can go. Afterwards, in London, wc will marry—if ■ yon still desire that we should.’ • The last words were uttered in a low, . tremulous, hesitating tone. 4 Still desire !’ he echoed, 4 1 still : love you fondly, ah! even more fer- : vently than before. If you would only confide in me I should be entirely happy.’ 4 At present that is impossible,’ she declared. 4 Some day before long 1 hope to he in a position to tell you everything.’ 4 And you are ready to go to Loudon,’ ho observed. 4 Haif-an-hour ago you said you did not wish to go to England !’ 4 True, because 1 feared to go. Now, ;I no longer fear. I am ready, even eager, to accompany you, if you still : wish.’ I 4 Then wc will go straight through to Paris, and when I have concluded ray business, which will occupy perhaps a couple of days, we’ll go on to London.’ ■ 4 Benissimo j’ she answered, raising her full red lips to his. 4 1 so want to . see your great and wonderful London, caro. I’ve read so ranch about it. and seen lots ot pictures anti photographs of its crowded streets and its motley people. It must be gigantic. I shall be so happy and content with you as mv guide.’ ‘ 4 It will be all very strange to you, dearest—the people, the language, the ways oi in.,' he said, the heavy look of despondency giving place to a joyous smile. 4 All will seem curious to you after vonr own beautiful Tuscany, with its mountains, its rich and picturesque country, and its cities of ancient palaces. ■ But in London there is nothing half so : beautiful as the Duomo at Florence; in j England no scenery so picturesque as j the wild valleys up beyond the Bagni ; di Lucca, the country you know so well. j 4 To sec London,’ she said, 4 has ever i been the dream of ray life.’ ; 4 Ah ! I’m afraid you’ll be sadly disi appointed, piccina,’ he said, again ; smiling. 4 After your bright and ; beautiful Italy our busy, hustling, smoke-blackened city will seem terribly : dull, monotonous, and dreary. The sky is seldom blue and the atmosphere never dear and bright like this. In your ‘.Tuscany everything is artistic; the ; couhtry, the towns, the people; but in

England—well, you will see for your- ; self.’ _ | ‘ Rut there are lots of amusements in ' London,’ she said, * and life there is , always gay.’ j ‘ For the rich, London offers the ! greatest and most diverse attractions of , any place in the world ; but for the • poor, horded logctlier in millions as | they are, it is absolutely the worst. In | Italy you have much poverty and dis- j tress, but the lot of the poor man is far j easier here than in toiling, turbulent, j over-crowded Loudon.’ » S ‘ One never appreciates the town in which one lives, be it ever so beautiful,’ she laughed. 4 Well, be patient, and you shall sec i what Loudon is like,’ he said. 4 But it j is already two o’clock. You must ! lunch, and afterwards pack your trunks. | Our train leaves at half-past nine to- | aight, and at Pisa we shall join the j night mail to the frontier. I’ll wire to j the sleeping-car office in Home and j secure our berths in the through car for I’aris.’ ‘ Ah, Nino,’ she exclaimed, happily, 1 1 am content, very content to leave Italy with you. An hour ago I had reasons for remaining; but now of course it is impossible, and strangely 1 snough I have no further object in j staying here.’ I 4 *And vou will not regret leaving?’ i ‘Of course not,’ she said, flinging j herself into his ready arms and shed- ! ling tears of joy. 4 1 fear nothing now, j because 1 know that you love s mo, j Nino,’ she sobbed. 4 1 know you will : not believe anything that is alleged | against me. You have asked me to j marry you, and I am content —ah! absolutely content to do so. But even row I do not hold you to your promise, because of my inability to divulge to I feu my secret. If you think me un- j true or scheming, then let us part. If ! you believe I love you, then let us marry { in England and be happy.’ j 4 I love you, Gemma,’ he answered, low and earnestly. 4 Let us go together So London, and let this be the last hour af our doubt and unhappiness.’ 'v: CHAPTER XII. A Word With His Excellexct. One morning, about ten days after Armytage had left Leghorn with Gemma, a rather curious consultation took place at the Italian Embassy in Grosvenor square, between Count Castellani, the ambassador to the court ! of St. James’s, and Inspector Elraes, of ; the Criminal Investigation Department. | The ambassador, a handsome gray- | haired man of sixty, with courtly ; manner as became the envoy of the 1 most polite nation in the world, stroked ! his beard thoughtfully while he listened ; to the detective. He was sitting at his ; big writing-table, in the small wellfurnished room where he was in the j habit of holding private conference with | those with whom the Chief Secretary of ; Embassy had no power to deal. Elmes, i smart, well-shaven, and ruddy, sat in i a large easy-chair close by, and slowly I explained the reason of his visit. I 4 I remember the case quite well,’ j his Excellency exclaimed when the j 1 detective paused. 4 Some papers re- j | garding it were placed before me, hut i i I left my secretary to deal with them. | | The girl, if I remember right, arrived j in London from Livorno accompanied I by an unknown Englishman, and was j found dead in a cab at Piccadilly circus ' mysteriously murdered, according to the ! medical evidence.’ | 4 The jury returned an open verdict, but without doubt she was the victim 1 of foul play,’ Elmes said decisively. 1 4 One moment,’ the ambassador in- | terrupted, placing his hand upon an i electric button upon the table, i In answer to his summons the thin, i dark-faced Neapolitan manservant api peared, and by him the ambassador i sent a message to the secretary, who in, 1 a few moments, entered. ! He was younger by ten years than j the ambassador, foppishly dressed as j Italians are wont to be, but neverthe- | loss pleasant faced, with manners j which were the essence of good breed--1 ing--4 You remember the case of the girl , —Vittorina, I think her name was—who was found dead in a cab outside the Criterion ?’ ! ‘ Yes.’ 4 Did we make any inquiries of the police in Livorno regarding her identity? Phis gentleman is an inspector from Scotland Yard,’ he explained. 4 Yes. Do you wish to see the reply ?’ 4 You might send it in to me at once,’ the ambassador said, and the secretary withdrew. ‘ What you have told me is certainly extraordinary—most extraordinary, ’ exclaimed his Excellency, addressing Elmos. 4 All the inquiries I have made point to the one fact I have already suggested,’ the detective said. ‘At Scotland Yard we received a request from vour Excellency that we should carefully investigate the matter, and we are doing so to the very best of our ability.’ 4 I’m sure you are. The police system of England is excellent, notwithstanding what some may say of its small detects. You have not the power of arrest which our Italian police have, but certainly next to the Paris detective force that of London is the most shrewd, the most intelligent, and the most successful in the detection of crime. I well recollect now signing a formal request to your department to make searching investigation.’ At that moment a clerk entered bearing a file of papers, which he placed before his Excellency. ‘ Now,’ exclaimed the. latter, ‘ let us see what reply wc received from the police of Livorno,’ and he slowly turned over letter after letter. The correspondence had evidently been considerable, its magnitude surprised the detective. ■ Suddenly the count paused, and his brows contracted as he read one of the , official letters. He glanced at the sigI nature, and saw it was that of the | Marquis Montelupo, Minister of Foreign ; Affairs at Rome. Twice he read il : through. It was a long despatch closely j written, and as the ambassador re-read I it his brow darkened. Again he touched the electric-bell, ! and a second time summoned the Secrei tary of Embassy. When the latter appeared his Excellency beckoned him into an inner room, and taking the file of papers with him, left the inspector alone with the Tones. After the lapse of some ten minutes ■ both men returned

; ‘ But what 1 desire to know, and that i | clearly, is why this despatch was never | ' handed to me ?’ his Excellency was say- • ( , ing angrily as they emerged. 1 \ j ‘ You were away at Scarborough, : ! therefore I attended to it myself,* the J | secretary answered. ! 4 Did you not appreciate its extreme i | importance ?’ his Excellency cried im- 1 I petuously. 4 Surely in the interests of our | ! diplomacy this matter should have been | placed immediately before me! This | despatch, a private one from the Minister, 1 ! has apparently been lying about the ■ embassy for the servants or any chance caller to read. The thing’s disgraceful. Suppose for one moment the contents oi | this despatch have leaked out? What ! would be the result ?’ j ! The secretary made no reply, but i shrugged his shoulders, j 4 Such gross carelessness on the part j of anyone connected with this embassy ; j amounts almost to treason,-’ the amj bassador continued, livid with rage and ; j indignation. 4 We arc here to do our i i utmost to preserve the honour and j ! prestige of our nation. Is not our ' ! motto 44 For the country and the king ?” | I Yet, because I was absent a week | I a matter of the most vital importance is j calmly shelved in this manner. MoreI over it was sent by special messenger j from Home; yet it has been allowed to ! lie about for anybody to copy.’ ! 4 Pardon me, your excellency,’ ex- ■ claimed the secretary. 4 The file has . been kept in the private safe until this j moment, and the key has never left my | | pocket.’ j j 4 Then why did you not send it here ; j by a clerk, and not bring it yourself,’ I i was his Excellency’s withering retort. j j 4 lt was impossible for me to return 1 lat that moment,’ the secretary ex- ' I plained. 4 1 was dictating an important I i letter to catch the post.’ ! 4 1 see from these papers that we { wrote direct to the questoi’e at Livorno, j and his reply came by special messengex j under cover from the Foreign Minister, i Surely that in itself was sufficient to i convince you of its extreme importance ? Your previous experiences in Vienna ! j and Berlin ought to have shown you that the Minister does not send de- ! spatches by special messenger unless he fears the 44 cabinet noir.” ’ , 4 1 wrote formally to the questore at Livorno, according to your instructions, I and certainly received from the Ministry 1 ’ at Borne the reply attached. I must . confess, however, that it did not strike ! me as extraordinary until this moment. ■ Now that I read it in the light of recent i occurrences I see how secret is its ' nature. It is impossible, however, that I ! anyone besides myself has read it.’ . i 4 Let us hope not,’ his Excellency | snapped, as he reseated himself. 4 lt ; was most injudicious, to say the least;’ . J ; and then with politeness he bowed to the ; secretary as a sign that he had concluded , i his expressions of displeasure. ■ j 4 lt is most fortunate that you called,’ ; > i the ambassador observed, turning to ! Elmcs when his secretary had left. 4 lf ( j you had not, a most important matter ; ■ 1 would have escaped my attention. As ' | it is, 1 fear I shall he too late in inter- I 1 i veiling owing to the gross negligence . | which has been displayed. After the ; . ! inquest had been held upon the body of . j the unfortunate girl we wrote, it | | appears, to the police at Livorno to ' L | endeavour to discover who she was;’ , [ I and he slowly turned over the papers j , i one by one until he came to a formid--5 I able document headed, 4 Questura di j } I Livorno,’ which he glanced through. ' j 4 The police, it seems, have no knowI ledge of any person missing,’ he con- ’ ; tinned, slowly and deliberately, when ■ho had read through the report. 4 The . ‘ name Yittorina is, of course, as common y in Tuscany as Mary is in England. The photograph taken by your depart- ; ment after death lias been seen by the ’ ! whole of the detectives in Livorno, but t , 'no one has identified it. If we had had j i the surname we might possibly have ; traced her by means of the register y i which is carefully kept in every Italian s 1 town ; but as it is, the questore exj presses regret that he is unable to s i furnish us with more than one item of i information.* I 4 What is that ?’ asked Elmes, 1 ' eagerly. . i *lt is stated that by the last tram > | from Livorno one night in August two ! persons, a man and a woman, inquired j for tickets for London. They were iu- * 1 formed that tickets could only be issued j! ias far as Milan or Modane. The man y ' was English, and the woman Italian. i The detective on duty at the station 5 1 took careful observation of them, as I persons who ask for through tickets for , ' London are rare. The description of j the woman tallies exactly with that of T j the unknown Yittorina, and that of the man with the fellow who so \ 1 cleverly escaped through the Criterion I bar.’ > 4 We already knew that they came , I from Leghorn,'’ the inspector observed disappointedly, hut the ambassador ' took no notice of his words. He was reading, for the third time, the secret 1 instructions contained in the despatch * from the Minister at Borne, and strok--1 ! ing his pointed gray beard, a habit of j his when unusually puzzled, j 4 You, of course, still have the i original of that curiously-worded letter 5 J found in the dead girl’s dressing bag, r 'i and signed “Egisto?”’ Count Castel- ’ j lani exclaimed presently, without taking 6 his keen eyes off the despatch before ’ i him. ' ; 4 Yes, your Excellency,’ Elmes i answered. ' 4 l have it in mv pocket.’ 0 i iTo be Continued.)