“I am obliged to you, Mr. Donnington,” said Barosa, “but unfortunately no good purpose can be gained by your keeping silent about anything you know. You can only compromise yourself; and as everything is now known to these people, I release you from the pledge of secrecy you gave.” “Ah,” broke in d’Olliveira, gloatingly. “To the devil with you and your grunts of satisfaction,” I cried hotly, turning on him. “If you want to bribe or frighten information out of people, do it with carrion like that young brute at your side. Don’t try it with Englishmen.” “How dare you use that tone to me, sir?” he exclaimed, getting up. Barosa interposed. “I beg you not to compromise yourself further. It may lead you into a very false position and can do no good either to me or to the Contesse Inglesia. It is known quite well that you were present in the----” “That’s enough, doctor. If you like to tell these people what they want to know, it’s your affair not mine. As for my part, I have friends quite influential enough not only to protect me, but to make it unpleasant for this hectoring gentleman here. I am sorry to see you in this mess.” He threw up his hands. “It is the fortune of war.” Then he turned to the magistrate. “Now, sir are you satisfied?” There was a pause and d’Olliveira said: “Yes, absolutely.” And then I had the most amazing surprise of my life. The magistrate waved his hand and a dozen or more men, police and prisoners mingled together, crowded into the room, and the eyes of every man present were directed on me. Barosa stepped forward and offered me his hand. “You must forgive us, Mr. Donnington,” he said. “Forgive you. What the deuce for?” “For having tested you in this drastic way. You will admit the evidence that you had betrayed us to the authorities was very strong--a letter in your name to your friend M. Volheno and his to you, thanking you for the information, was found in your rooms. I made the inquiries you suggested and satisfied myself of your absolute good faith. I would not believe you had broken your word, but my friends here insisted, and then this test was planned.” “Do you mean----” I stopped in sheer astonishment as the truth dawned on me. “I mean that this was all an elaborate pretence. There is no magistrate here and no police. We are all comrades in the one cause, and after what has passed no one of us will ever distrust you again. I say that for all of us.” “Yes, certainly for me,” said the magistrate. “For us all,” came a chorus. “Well, you fooled me all right,” I said, gaping at them for a moment like a bumpkin at a wax-work show, for the suddenness of the thing almost bewildered me. Then I laughed and added: “It seems I was sitting on a bag with more gunpowder in it than I knew. Which do you expect me to do--thank you for your present confidence or curse you for your former distrust?”