"He will certainly go far, my good Emmanuele," agreed Padre Sigismondi, drily. "As far as the penal station on Procida if I am not hugely mistaken, or unless he shows a most improbable repentance. What have we here? Other warders in this private penitentiary?" Footsteps clattered along the tiny causeway. With a rush, half a dozen figures swept up to them through the moonlight, Landon at their head. This was the answer to Signor Luigi's frantic shouts. The rush wavered, hesitated, came to a halt. The islanders recognized the grim, aggressive form in the _soutane_ with sharp exclamations of amazement and alarm. Landon, without their experience, felt the impalpable infection of their fear. He, too, halted, staring mistrustfully at the priest and his companions. He shook Luigi by the elbow. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. The smuggler made a deferential outward movement of his palms. "It is a visit, an unexpected visit, from our--our vicar," he explained. "It is the Padre Sigi--Sigismondi, I should say." The padre stepped forward and spoke in crisp, imperturbable tones. "I am peripatetic confessor to these islands, Signor," he said. "There is a bitter need of six priests to each island, rather than six islands to a priest. It is an abode of wickedness, this. That, perhaps, has not been hidden from you?" Landon kept a moment's silence. Then he smiled. "I confess that I have not augmented its morality, in bulk, Signor," he said. "In fact, by adding the two who stand behind you to its population, I have done far otherwise. Instead of being where you find them, they should be under lock and key." "Why?" demanded the priest, laconically. "Because they robbed me," answered Landon. "Because, for wicked purposes of their own, they took from me--not gold, but what is beyond the price of gold or buying--my only son." "You accuse them of--kidnapping?" The good man's voice was coldly incredulous. Landon made a gesture of assent. "Of that and of attempted murder. They hired Moorish desperadoes to attack me, to ride me down." "And you have made of yourself not only prosecutor, but judge, jury, and keeper of their prison?" "These things happened in Africa, outside civilized jurisdiction. Was I to lack justice when it lay in the hollow of my hand?" "Are there no consular courts? If not, you cannot bring your private cause to private verdict in the dominions of the King of Italy, however bad his title to the throne." "Your reverence is a Legitimist?" grinned Landon. "In every sense of the word, Signor. My sense of legitimacy finds your arguments unsound." He looked at Claire with an apologetic bow. "And as a matter of fact, Signora, I have not heard your statement. How does it vary from this gentleman's? Or does it, perhaps, corroborate it?" She looked at him very steadily. "The man to whom you have been talking," she said slowly, "is, I think, Signor, the worst man whom God permits to live."