The smuggler ran to and fro distractedly. A jersey came from one press. A shirt from another. A cupboard supplied trousers; a deplorable collar which had had no recent acquaintance with a laundry was even offered and declined. Aylmer retired into the adjoining room, and Landon, on his return, with imperturbable aplomb received and began to dry the wet clothes he had taken off. Miller reviewed these proceedings with unqualified amazement. Offered no key to the position, he proceeded to probe for one. "Your reverence has voyaged far?" he hazarded. "More miles than I care to remember, Signor," said the other, courteously. "But ever, alas, in a circle. My peregrinations have been bounded, ever since my ordination, by Naples on the north and Palermo or Messina in the south. I see much earth and sky and water, especially the latter, but I add nothing to geography. I am amphibious, that is all." His "ordination"? The gleam of discovery woke in Miller's eyes. A priest, was it? But the presence of Aylmer and Miss Van Arlen--how was that to be explained? And how far had the newcomer gauged the situation. "Your reverence finds in us unexpected additions to your flock," he said. "The population of Salicudi has increased since you last visited it." "To my very natural satisfaction," said Sigismondi, imperturbably. He looked at the steaming bowl of polenta and the coffee-pot which Luigi had set upon the table. Emmanuele came in, wrapped in a sheepskin coat and grinning at the food expectantly. His master greeted him with a nod. "It appears that we are to feast and feast alone, my son," he said. "These friends of ours insist on having dined two hours ago. May the Blessed bless to us this refreshment." He seated himself and began to eat slowly, but with relish. "Heat is a great tonic," he remarked reflectively. "The contents of this bowl and, above all, of this admirable coffee-pot, will erase the remembrance of the discomforts of the night. And then sleep, but not too much of it. Luigi, my friend, we must be off at dawn." The smuggler's eyebrows rose into arcs. "How, Reverence?" he exclaimed. "At dawn, and whither, if you please?" "By way of Celsa, where an infant awaits baptism--and my friends, I dare to hope, will excuse the short delay--to Messina. Where else, my good Luigi? That surely is the place where your guests can most conveniently adjust their misunderstandings." The smuggler shrugged his shoulders. "I am at your service, father," he said, and looked vacantly at the opposite wall. But the tail of his eye, Aylmer noted, was on Landon. Was there a message, or inquiry, in it? "All of us," said Landon, smoothly, "must find your proposition a very practical one. May I hasten to add my approval of it?" He looked smilingly at Aylmer, at Claire, lastly at Muhammed. The Moor--was it Aylmer's fancy?--answered with a tiny nod. There was sarcasm in this glance of Landon's; there was menace; there was--so Aylmer told himself--malignant triumph.