At last, after three-quarters of an hour, we ran into the busy station of Pisa, that point so well known to every tourist who visits Italy. It is the highway to Florence, Rome, and Naples; just as it is to Genoa, Turin, or Milan, therefore as the traveller in Switzerland must at some time find himself at Bâle, so does the traveller in Italy always find himself at Pisa. Yet how few strangers who pass through, or who drive down to look at the leaning tower and the great old cathedral, white as a marble tomb, ever take the trouble to explore the country beyond? They never go up to quiet, gray old Lucca, a town with walls and gates the same to-day as when Dante wandered there, untouched by the hand of the vandal, unspoilt by modern progress, undisturbed by tourist invaders. Its narrow, old-world streets of decaying palaces, its leafy piazzas, its Lily theatre, its proud, handsome people, all charming to one who, like myself, loves her Italy and the gay-hearted, mirthful Tuscan. Little time was there for reflection, however, for on alighting at Pisa I was compelled to conceal myself until the arrival of the express on its way from Rome to Paris. While I waited the thought occurred to me that the Vispera was still in peril, and I alone could save her passengers and crew. Yet with the mysterious woman still alive there could, I pondered, be no motive in blowing up the ship. Perhaps the idea had happily been abandoned, and some color was lent to this latter theory by the fact that Keppel had not made any excuse by which to prevent Gerald from travelling farther in the doomed vessel. No father could possibly allow his son to sail in a ship which he intended should never reach port. Nevertheless, the non-appearance of the individual whose voice I had heard, but whom I had not seen, was disconcerting. Try how I would, I could not get rid of the suspicion aroused by Keppel’s flight that foul play was still intended. If it were not, why had not the old millionaire continued his cruise? The unknown woman had been concealed on board for weeks, therefore there was no reason why she should not have remained there for another three days until we reached Naples. No, that some curious mystery was connected with the whole affair I felt confident. I peered forth from the corner in which I was standing and saw Keppel and his companion enter the buffet. Then, when they had disappeared, I made a sudden resolve, and entering the telegraph office wrote the following message: _To Captain Davis, S. Y. ‘Vispera,’ in port, Livorno._ “Have altered arrangements. Sail at once for Genoa. Box and packages I spoke of will join you there. Leave on receipt of this. “KEPPEL.” I handed it to the telegraphist, saying in Italian, “I want this delivered on board to-night most particularly.” He looked at it and shook his head.