Many years before, Giovanna’s only brother, Luigi Rispani, had come to London by way of advancing his fortunes. He was energetic and persevering, with a gift for languages, and after a time he obtained the post of foreign correspondent in a city house of business. A little later he married a country-woman of his own, and then, after a few years, both he and his wife died, leaving one son behind them who was named after his father. This son was now about twenty years old, a dark-eyed, good-looking, quick-witted young fellow, but having within him the germs of certain scampish propensities, which, up till now, had only been able to develop themselves after a weak and tentative fashion. Luigi earned his living in part as drawing-master to a number of cheap suburban boarding-schools, and in part, when his other duties were over for the day, by acting as check-taker at one of the West End theatres. The Captain and the elder Rispani had been on fairly intimate terms, and after the latter’s death he had never altogether lost sight of the lad. Sometimes, when he had been more than usually lucky at billiards, he would look up young Luigi and treat him to a dinner of four or five courses at some foreign restaurant in the neighbourhood of Leicester Square, and at parting press a couple of half-crowns into his unreluctant palm. Verinder, who by long habit had become a tolerably shrewd reader of character, had long ago summed up in his mind the most salient characteristics of Luigi Rispani, and he now said to himself, with a pleasant sense of elation: “Here is the very tool I need ready to my hand. If I were to search London round I could not find one that would suit my purpose better.” This evening he sought out Luigi at the theatre where the young man was engaged, and after shaking hands with him, said: “I wish to see you most particularly. Come to my den after you have finished here and I will tell you what I want you for.” Luigi went straight from the theatre to his uncle’s rooms. (As long as he could remember he had been used to calling the Captain “uncle”). The ghostly light of dawn was in the eastern sky before the two separated. The nature of the business discussed by them will be made clear by a conversation which took place next day between the Captain and his niece. “You have not forgotten our talk in the Park the day before yesterday?” said the former. “There was much in it which I am not likely readily to forget. All the same, you said certain things which, the more I think of them, the more extravagant and incapable of ever being realised they seem to me.” “That is just what I am here to-day to endeavour to disprove,” remarked the Captain in his dryest tones. “You don’t object to my smoking, I know. Thanks.” As soon as he had selected and lighted a cigar, he resumed: