“I fear, Signorina,” he answered with grave politeness, “that delivery is quite impossible. It is after hours, and the message will remain in the office and be delivered with letters in the morning.” “But it must reach the Captain to-night,” I declared. The man elevated his shoulders slightly and showed his palms, the Tuscan gesture of regret. “At Livorno they are not, I am sorry to say, very obliging.” “Then you believe it to be absolutely useless to send the message, expecting it to be delivered before morning?” “The Signorina understands me exactly.” “But what am I to do?” I cried in desperation. “This message must reach the Captain before midnight.” The man reflected for a moment. Then he answered,-- “There is but one way I can suggest.” “What is that?” I cried anxiously, for I heard a train approaching, and I knew it must be the Paris express. “To send a special messenger to Livorno. A train starts in half-an-hour, and the message can then be delivered by half-past eleven.” “Could you find me one?” I asked. “I’m willing to bear all expenses.” “My son will go, if the Signorina so wishes,” he responded. “Thank you so much,” I replied, a great weight lifted from my mind. “I leave the matter entirely in your hands. If you will kindly see that this message is delivered you will be performing not only myself but a number of other persons a very great service.” “The Signorina’s instruction shall be obeyed,” he answered, and having placed some money to cover expenses upon the counter, I again thanked him and left, feeling that, although I had been guilty of forgery, I had, nevertheless, saved the yacht from destruction. The train with its glaring head-lights swept into the station from its long journey across Maremma marshes, but I saw with considerable dismay that there was but one sleeping-car, the only through car for the frontier. I was therefore compelled to travel in this, even at the risk of meeting Keppel in the corridor. One cannot well travel in one of those stuffy cars of the Compagnie International des Wagon-Lits without being seen by all one’s fellow-travellers, and here my first difficulty presented itself. I watched the old gentleman and his companion enter the car, and from the platform saw them shown their respective berths by the conductor. Keppel was given a berth in a two-bed compartment with another man, while the tall, dark woman was shown to one of the compartments set aside for ladies at the other end of the car. With satisfaction I watched the old millionaire take his companion’s hand and wish her good-night, and then, when his door had closed, I myself mounted into the car and demanded a place. “The Signorina is fortunate. We have just one berth vacant,” answered the man in Italian. “This way, please,” and taking me along the corridor he rapped at the door of the compartment to which he had just shown the mysterious woman.