"In that case, I should have thought that means might have been found to make him speak," said the lawyer, drily. "What means? I profess I don't know any. The devil of it is, you see, Signor Giovacchino, that it will not do to treat those fellows roughly. There would be the deuce and all to pay. There he lies, shivering, and trembling, and muttering, and going on as if he was imbecile; and swearing he is too ill to leave his bed. I don't see how we are to get him here into court." "Well, I've had better luck this morning; and had not to go out to seek it. My witness came to me; and I think I have got some important evidence," said the lawyer, with much of the exultation of a successful sportsman over a less fortunate rival. "The deuce you have. There is a luck in those things. But if your evidence came to you--Who the devil would ever think of coming to a Commissary of Police as long as they could stay away, if they pleased." "Well, my witness was not altogether a willing one; or at least she came to me for the purpose of saying something very different from what she did say." "But you did not come here merely to boast, I am sure, Signor Giovacchino. You are going to tell me what you have been able to learn, eh?" said the Commissary. "Boast, no, not I! There's nothing to boast of. Besides, you know my interest in the matter is of a different nature from yours, Signor Pietro. All I want is to clear my friend and client, the Marchese Ludovico. You, of course, are anxious to bring the crime home to somebody." "True," said the Commissary, nodding his head. "And of course, therefore, any light I can throw upon the matter, I am ready enough to bring to you, unless it were of a nature to incriminate the Marchese," returned the lawyer. "Of course, just so. And what you have learned this morning--" "Tell's all t'other way; I have no difficulty in allowing that, on the first blush of the matter, I felt no doubt that the Marchese was the guilty party. It only shows that one ought always to have doubts of everything. It looked so very bad. The Marchese takes the girl into the wood, comes back without her, and very shortly afterwards she is found where he left her, murdered. And he is known to have had the greatest possible interest in getting rid of her. Would it not have seemed a clear case to any one?" "So one would have said indeed," assented the Commissary. "Well, the Marchese had nothing to do with it. At the present moment I feel--well, hardly any doubt at all that the deed was done by the girl Paolina Foscarelli." "That's my notion too," said the Commissary, taking a pinch of snuff, and proferring his box to his visitor; "but what is the new evidence."