"Nay, she was there but the one night,--the night of her arrival. I do not think it likely. For if you remember, I myself went to her early the next morning, and by a stroke of good luck I had already come upon the little house in the garden which was offered to me by a friend of yours for her Highness's service." "On the evening of our arrival? A friend of mine offered you the house," said Wogan, puzzling over who that friend could be. "Yes. Harry Whittington." Wogan started to his feet. So, after all, Whittington was at the bottom of the trouble. Wogan wondered whether he had done wisely not to publish the fellow's treachery. But he could not,--no, he had to make his account with the man alone. There were reasons. "It was Harry Whittington who offered the house for her Highness's use?" Wogan exclaimed. "It was an offer most apt and kind." "And made on the evening of our arrival?" "Not an hour after you left me. But you are surprised?" Wogan was reflecting that on the evening of his arrival, and indeed just before Whittington made his offer to Origo, he had seen Whittington's face by the torchlight in the square. That face lived very plainly in Wogan's thoughts. It was certainly not for Clementina's service that Whittington had offered the house. Wogan resumed his seat, saying carelessly,-- "I was surprised, for I had a notion that Whittington lodged opposite the Torre Garisenda, and not at the house." "Nor did he. He hired it for a friend who has now left Bologna." "Man or woman?" asked Wogan, remembering that visitor who had drawn back into the alley one early morning of last autumn. The man might very likely have been Whittington. "I did not trouble to inquire," said the Cardinal. "But, Mr. Wogan, why do you ask me these questions?" "I have not come yet to the end of them," answered Wogan. "There is one more." "Ask it!" said his Eminence, crossing his legs. "Will your Eminence oblige me with a history of the affection of Maria Vittoria, Mlle. de Caprara, for the King?" The Cardinal uncrossed his legs and bounced in his chair. "Here is a question indeed!" he stuttered. "And a history of the King's response to it," continued Wogan, implacably, "with a particular account of why the King lingers in Spain after the Cadiz expedition has put out to sea." Origo was now quite still. His face was pale, and he had lost in an instant that air of affectation which so contrasted with his broad features. "This is very dangerous talk," said he, solemnly. "Not so dangerous as silence." "Some foolish slanderer has been busy at your ears." "Not at my ears," returned Wogan. The Cardinal took his meaning. "Is it so, indeed?" said he, thoughtfully, once or twice. Then he reached out his hand towards an escritoire. "But here's the King's letter come this morning."