"I sincerely hope you will," the Ambassador said. "I am here to guard the interests of all Italian subjects, and if the life of one is taken, it is my duty to press upon your Department the urgent necessity of discovering and punishing the assassin. If, however, I can be of any service to you in this matter, or can advise you, do not hesitate to call on me. You can always see me privately if you send in your card;" and rising, as a sign the interview was at an end, His Excellency bowed, and wished the detective "good-morning." The instant Inspector Elmes had closed the door the Ambassador took up the letter found in the dead girl's bag, together with the file of papers lying before him. Carrying them swiftly to the window, he readjusted his gold-rimmed pince-nez, and hurriedly turned over folio after folio, until he came to the secret despatch with the sprawly signature of the Italian Minister of Foreign Affairs. Then, placing the letter beside the despatch, he closely compared the signature with the handwriting of the letter. His face grew pale, his grey brows contracted, and he bit his lip. The "l's," "p's" and "t's" in the strange missive were exactly identical with those in the signature to the closely written despatch which had been penned by the private secretary. With trembling hand he held the soiled scrap of paper to the light. "The watermark shows this to be official paper," he muttered aloud. "There is certainly some deep, extraordinary mystery here--a mystery which must be fathomed." Again he glanced at the long formal despatch. Then the Ambassador added, in a low, subdued, almost frightened tone: "What if it proved that the Marquis Montelupo and `Egisto' are one and the same?" CHAPTER THIRTEEN. A DISCOVERY IN EBURY STREET. The soft, musical Tuscan tongue, the language which Cemma spoke always with her lover, is full of quaint sayings and wise proverbs. The assertion that "L'amore della donna e come il vino di Champagni; se non si beve subito, ricade in fondo al calice" is a daily maxim of those light-hearted, happy, indolent dwellers north and south of Arno's Valley, from grey old Lucca, with her crumbling city gates and ponderous walls, across the mountains, and plains to where the high towers of Siena stand out clear-cut like porcelain against the fiery blaze of sunset. Nearly every language has an almost similar proverb--a proverb which is true indeed, but, like many another equally wise, is little heeded.