"But you had a more intimate knowledge of the household, and of the Professor's friends, than anyone else. Therefore you, surely, have your own suspicions?" "No; until one point of the mystery, which has apparently never occurred to you, has been cleared up, both you and I can only remain in ignorance, as we are at present." "Why not be quite frank with me, Antonio?" I urged. "I do not believe you are your master's assassin; I will never believe that! But you are not open with me. Put yourself in my place. I have been entrapped by Kirk into a network of mystery and tragedy, and have lost my wife, who, I fear, is in the hands of conspirators. I have not been to the police, because Kirk urged me not to seek their aid. So--" "No, signore," he interrupted quickly, "do not tell the police anything. It would be injudicious--fatal!" "Ah!" I cried, "then you are acting in conjunction with Kirk? You, too, are trying to mislead me!" "I am not, signore," he protested. "On the tomb of my mother," he declared, making use of the common Italian oath, "I am only acting in your interests. The disappearance of your signora adds mystery to the affair." "What do you suggest as my next move? If I find Mabel, I care nothing. The tragic affair may remain a mystery for ever. I leave it to others to discover who killed Professor Greer." "You actually mean that, signore?" he cried. "You would really refrain from seeking further, providing you rediscover your wife?" I was silent a few seconds. His eagerness was sufficient admission of a guilty conscience. "Yes," I said. "What matter the affairs of others, so long as the wife I love is innocent and at my side? She is the victim of a plot from which I must rescue her." The Italian gazed again away across the roofs of the Eternal City, now growing more indistinct in the gathering mists. "I fear, Signor Holford," he at last exclaimed with a sigh, "that you have a very difficult task before you. You are evidently in ignorance of certain curious facts." "Concerning what?" "Concerning your wife." "You would cast a slur upon her good name?" I cried excitedly, my anger rising. "Not at all," was his calm, polite response, his lips parted in a pleasant smile. "You asked me to assist you, and I was about to give you advice--that is, provided that you have told me the truth." "About what?" "About Miss Ethelwynn--that she still lives." "Of that there is no doubt," I said. "And if you found your signora alive and well, you would undertake to make no further inquiry?" he repeated, with undue eagerness. "Ah! You wish to tie me down to that?" I cried. "You do so because you and your friends are in fear. You realise your own peril--eh?" "No," declared the man at my side; "you still entirely misunderstand me. You are an Englishman, and you mistrust me merely because I am a foreigner. It is a prejudice all you English have, more or less."