“By the way, Swindon, you are a cautious fellow, that a man may trust with a secret--you know who the gentleman is that came with me?” “No, sir; never saw him before. Indeed, I did not remark him closely.” “All the better, Swindon. He does not fancy anything like scrutiny. He is Mr. Roland Cashel.” “Of Tubbermore, sir?” “The same. Hush, man,--be cautious! He has come up here about a little law business on which he desired to consult Mr. Hammond, and now we have a document for signature, if you could only find us another person equally discreet with yourself to be the witness, for these kind of things, when they get about in the world, are misrepresented in a thousand ways. Do you happen to have any confidential man here would suit us?” “If my head waiter, sir, Mr. Nipkin, would do; he writes an excellent hand, and is a most reserved, cautious young man.” “Perfectly, Swindon; he'll do perfectly. Will you join us upstairs, where my friend is in waiting? Pray, also, give Nipkin a hint not to bestow any undue attention on Mr. Cashel, who wants to be _incog._ so far as may be; as for yourself, Swindon, no hint is necessary.” A graceful bow from the landlord acknowledged the compliment, and he hastened to give the necessary orders, while Linton continued his way to the apartment where the Italian awaited him. “Impatient for breakfast, I suppose, Giovanni?” said Linton, gayly, as he entered. “Well? sit down, and let us begin. Already I have done more than half the business which brought me here, and we may be on our way back within an hour.” Giovanni seated himself at the table without any of that constraint a sense of inferiority enforces, and began his breakfast in silence. “You understand,” said Linton, “that when you have written the name 'Roland Cashel,' and are asked if that be your act and deed, you have simply to say 'Yes;' a bow--a mere nod, indeed--is sufficient.” “I understand,” said he, thoughtfully, as if reflecting over the matter with himself. “I conclude, then,” added he, after a pause, “that the sooner I leave the country afterwards, the better--I mean the safer--for me.” “As to any positive danger,” said Linton, affecting an easy carelessness, “there is none. The document is merely a copy of one already signed by Mr. Cashel, but which I have mislaid, and I am so ashamed of my negligence I cannot bring myself to confess it.” This tame explanation Linton was unable to finish without faltering, for the Italian's keen and piercing dark eyes seemed to penetrate into him as he was speaking. “With this I have nothing to do,” said he, abruptly. “It is quite clear, however, that Giovanni Santini is not Roland Cashel; nor, if there be a penalty on what I have done, am I so certain that he whose name I shall have forged will undergo it in my place.”