He frowned a little at the sight, in no mood for business, then settled down grudgingly to study the contents. Inside was an envelope with a deep black edge sealed with an elaborate coat-of-arms. Bethune was staring into the fire, his mind still full of his friend's adventure. He felt that deep, rather wistful, admiration which a man of his type extends to those more brilliant. A quick exclamation made him turn his head. McTaggart was plainly startled by his news. "I say--Bethune--Good Lord--it's impossible!" He re-read the document in his hand. "My Uncle's dead!--and both my cousins! A motor-smash outside Rome. What an awful thing!--the car overturned..." He skimmed on, breathless--"the old man was killed ... on the spot--the eldest son, too ... the other lingered ... died on Tuesday..." He turned the letter over. "Why, it's nearly a week old. Oh, I see!--it went to Scotland and then to my lawyers, who sent it here. They want me to go to Siena at once." Bethune began to voice condolences. "Oh! I never knew them. But, of course, I'm sorry. He was my mother's brother. (Just touch that bell.) They quarrelled when she married ... I shall have to go." He turned to the waiter answering the summons. "Bring me a Continental Bradshaw." "Do you come in for anything?" asked the practical Bethune. "Anything?"--the young man laughed with a touch of excitement. "I'm the only one left. There's a palace in Siena ... and a flat in Rome ... and a villa somewhere. And a lot of land, vines and olive groves and a nice fat income ... and--Bethune--don't roar!--I'm the present Marquis. They actually address me..." he choked with mirth--"as the Illustrious Marquis Maramonte!" "Good for you." Bethune leaned across and the two shook hands. "I'm jolly glad. It'll make old Cadell sit up a bit--you've a dead cert there." He chuckled with glee. "Splendid--I forgot that." His face sobered suddenly. "Although I've half a mind ... yes!--Look here, Bethune--keep this between ourselves--it's not likely to leak out--and I'd rather win Cydonia as plain Peter McTaggart." His voice softened on the girl's name. What a setting for her--this palace in Siena! "All right, old man. I quite understand. You can count on me to keep my mouth shut." The waiter returned and they fell to ways and means, wrestling with the Bradshaw, discussing the route. "I'll come back and give you a hand with your packing. You'll be wanting a car now, Monsieur le Marquis?" McTaggart chuckled. "Good old Bethune! always an eye to business, what? You can take the order--and spare no cost. Line it with white. It'll do for the wedding." Then a sudden memory clouded his mirth as his thoughts reverted to the tragedy at Rome. "I'm glad all the same I'm too late for the funeral..." Early next morning he started for Siena. CHAPTER XIV At Dover he remembered Mr. Cadell. With a sense of guilt he sent the following wire: