The tip of Geoletti’s tongue travelled between his lips. He was evidently trying to master the reaction from a tremendous strain, and at the same time to find speech to lay the suspicion of any. “For no one--no, that is the truth,” he whispered out at length. The doctor tapped the blade in his hand peremptorily. “A lie! Have you ever seen me before?” “No.” “Have you ever been to this house before?” He dismissed the coming denial with a flick of his hand. His sharp merciless penetrativeness had its instant effect. The Italian responded to it automatic, like a close echo to the tap of a drum. “Have you?” “Yes.” “When? How long ago?” “Twenty year.” The doctor was always one of those lucky downright people, who, quite scornful of the laws of defamation when they find a man meriting their chastisement, go through life speaking their minds with impunity. “That was when my predecessor lived here,” he said shortly. “He was a drunken blackguard and worse--a disgrace to his calling. It has taken me fifteen years to build up a practice on the ruins of his infamy. His name was Blague. Was it him you knew?” “Yes.” “And meant to knife?” “Yes.” “I daresay. What had he done to you?” The stranger’s eyes seemed suddenly to roll in his head. He clasped his hands convulsively to his breast. Words come from him in a broken stream: “It was in this ver’ room--yes. I arrive by appointiment to meet wonn ozer--a zhentleman, yes, that I want to see--ver’ much I want to see him. I have a little word I wish to spik to him; and he send me message to com’ here, and he will follow to me. He not arrive when I arrive--no. I told to wait for him in zis room; and still it is a long time, and he not come. Zen presently there enter a yong woman, a paziente of Blague, and he shut us in togezer; and all quite sudden she begin to scream and tear herself. Then Blague he rush in, and I am accuse; and the coppar he com’ and drag me to the stazione, and I am accuse; and again before the judge I am accuse. And I try to spik the truth of what I com’ to Blague’s house for, and I am told it nozzing--no bearing on the case whatever, except it show me bad character. And the yong woman she swear against me--lies, lies, all; and I sent to prison for twen-ty year--for twen-ty year I sent. Zen I know zat Blague and ze zhentleman make zis op togezer, so to get rid of me; and I swear vengeance on zem. For twen-ty year though I wait, it sall com’ at last.” The doctor was shutting up the dagger-knife very coolly as he listened. “Not to one of them, at least, my friend,” he said. “Blague’s been dead of the horrors this ten years, and a good riddance to him.” “Dead!” The word seemed to stun the man. “Yes, dead.” “And ze ozer?” “I know nothing of him, and don’t want to know.” “His name----” “I don’t wish to hear it. That’ll do. Here, take back your knife.” Geoletti received the weapon in silence. “You no help me?” he said presently in a slow voice.