Outwardly there was nothing very striking about either, beyond the fact that they were foreigners of a well-to-do class. The English of the elder man was perfect, but that of Romanelli was very ungrammatical, and in both faces a keen observer might have noticed expressions of cunning and craftiness. Any Italian would have at once detected, from the manner Romanelli abbreviated his words when speaking Italian, that he came from the Romagna, that wild hot-bed of lawlessness and anarchy lying between Florence and Forli, while his host spoke pure Tuscan, the language of Italy. The words they exchanged were deep and earnest. Sometimes they spoke softly, when the Doctor would smile and stroke his smooth-shaven chin, at others they conversed with a volubility that sounded to English ears as though they were quarrelling. The matter under discussion was certainly a strangely secret one. The room was well furnished in genuine old oak, which bore no trace of the Tottenham Court Road; the table was adorned with exotics, and well laid with cut-glass and silver; while the air which entered by the open windows was refreshing after the heat and burden of the August day. "The simple fact remains, that on the day Vittorina sets foot in London the whole affair must become public property," said Malvano seriously. "And then?" "Well, safety lies in flight," the elder man answered, slowly gazing round the room. "I'm extremely comfortable here, and have no desire to go wandering again; but if this girl really comes, England cannot shelter both of us." Romanelli looked grave, knit his brows, and slowly twirled the ends of his small waxed moustache. "But how can we prevent her?" "I've been endeavouring to solve that problem for a fortnight past," his host answered. "While Vittorina is still in Italy, and has no knowledge of my address, we are safe enough. She's the only person who can expose us. As for myself, leading the life of a country practitioner, I'm respected by the whole neighbourhood, dined by the squire and the parson, and no suspicion of mystery attaches to me. I'm buried here as completely as though I were in my grave." The trees rustled outside, and the welcome breeze stirred the curtains within, causing the lamp to flicker. "Yet you fear Vittorina!" observed the younger man, puzzled. "It seems that you have no memory of the past," the other exclaimed, a trifle impatiently. "Is it imperative to remind you of the events on a certain night in a house overlooking the sea of Livorno; of the mystery--" "Basta!" cried the younger man, frowning, his eyes shining with unnatural fire. "Can I ever forget them? Enough! All is past. It does neither of us good to rake up that wretched affair. It is over and forgotten." "No, scarcely forgotten," the Doctor said in a low, impressive tone. "Having regard to what occurred, don't you think that Vittorina has sufficient incentive to expose us?"