It was noon ere he drew into the Piazza before the station, and giving Garrett instructions to continue on to Milan and north to Berlin where the car was to be garaged, he took the afternoon express for the frontier at Chiasso, travelling thence _via_ Bale to Ostend and London. On entering his snug chambers at five o'clock one afternoon, he found Charles and the Parson smoking and awaiting him. That evening the trio held a long and earnest consultation. The official document was carefully examined, and the names of many city firms mentioned. The Parson seemed to possess a remarkable intimate knowledge of city life. "Old Boncini is a clever old thief," remarked the reverend gentleman. "He's feathering his nest finely--all the money in his wife's name." "My dear fellow, half the Cabinet Ministers of Europe only use their political influence in order to gain fortune. Except the British Government there isn't a single one which isn't corrupt." "Well, Albert, my dear boy, you certainly seem to have got hold of a good thing," the Parson remarked. "His Corrupt Excellency seems to place every faith in you. Your four-flush was admirable all the time." "It took a bit of working, I can tell you. He's as slick as a rat." "But he doesn't suspect anything wrong?" "Hasn't the slightest idea of it, my dear Tommy. He fancies I'm going to marry his daughter. The fat old mother is already imagining herself mother-in-law of a British peer." "Yes. All Rome knows that you've fallen in love with the pretty Velia, and that you've told her the tale. What a fellow you are with the ladies." "Why?" he laughed taking a cigarette. "They are all very charming and delightful. But in my career I generally manage to make them useful. It's really remarkable what a woman will do in the interests of the man whom she fancies is in love with her. Fortunately, perhaps, for me, I've only been in love once." "And it resulted in a tragedy," remarked the Parson quietly, knowing that he referred to the Princess. His Lordship sighed, flinging himself down in his armchair, worn out by long travel. "My dear boy," he said with a weary sigh, "if I ever got married I'd soon go mothy--everybody does. Married people, whatever their position in life, settle down into the monotonous groove that is the death of all romance. Before a man marries a girl they have little dinners together at restaurants, and little suppers, and all seems so bright and gay under the red candle-shades. We see it on every hand. But why should it all be dropped for heavy meals and dulness, just because two people who like one another have the marriage service read over them?" The Parson laughed. His friend was always amusing when he discussed the question of matrimony.