"You are perfectly right," I remarked. "A fierce enemy is always better than a false friend. Yet I would dearly like to know what I have done to merit antagonism. Where has your father gone?" "To Brescia, I believe--to meet his friends." "Who are they?" "His business friends. I only know them very slightly; they are interested in mining properties. They meet at intervals. The last time he met them was in Stockholm a month ago." This struck me as curious. Why should he meet his business friends so clandestinely--why should they come at night in a car to cross-roads? But I told her nothing of what I had witnessed. I decided to keep my knowledge to myself. "The boat leaves at two o'clock," she said, after a pause, her hand upon her breast as though to stay the wild beating of her heart. "Will you not take my advice and leave by that? Go to Milan, and then straight on to England," she urged in deep earnestness, her big, wide-open eyes fixed earnestly upon mine. "No, Miss Pennington," I replied promptly; "the fact is, I do not feel disposed to leave here just at present. I prefer to remain--and to take the risk, whatever it may be." "But why?" she cried, for we were standing at the end of the terrace, and out of hearing. "Because you are in need of a friend--because you have admitted that you, too, are in peril. Therefore I have decided to remain near you." "No," she cried breathlessly. "Ah! you do not know the great risk you are running! You must go--do go, Mr. Biddulph--go, for--_for my sake_!" I shook my head. "I have no fear of myself," I declared. "I am anxious on your behalf." "Have no thought of me," she cried. "Leave, and return to England." "And see you no more--eh?" "If you will leave to-day, I--I will see you in England--perhaps." "Perhaps!" I cried. "That is not a firm promise." "Then, if you really wish," she replied in earnestness, "I will promise. I'll promise anything. I'll promise to see you in England--when the danger has passed, if--if disaster has not already fallen upon me," she added in a hoarse whisper. "But my place is here--near you," I declared. "To fly from danger would be cowardly. I cannot leave you." "No," she urged, her pale face hard and anxious. "Go, Mr. Biddulph; go and save yourself. Then, if you so desire, we shall meet again in secret--in England." "And that is an actual promise?" I asked, holding forth my hand. "Yes," she answered, taking it eagerly. "It is a real promise. Give me your address, and very soon I shall be in London to resume our acquaintanceship--but, remember, not our friendship. That must never be--_never_!" CHAPTER FOUR THE PERIL BEYOND My taxi pulled up before my own white-enamelled door in Wilton Street, off Belgrave Square, and, alighting, I entered with my latch-key.