He saw the Panther--the man he sought--seated at a table by the window engrossed in a game of _mora_. While he had faith enough in his disguise as an outdoor device, he was unwilling to tempt fate by entering the café. It was possible, he reflected, that one of the rough fellows there, playful in his cups, might pull the goggles from his eyes. That the sound of his voice alone would be sufficient to make the one he wanted recognise him he felt sure, but it might reveal his identity to others as well. So he walked on, to return again and again. For two hours he passed and repassed the place, striving to catch the eye of his man and give the signal that would not fail to bring him forth. When at last his perseverance bore fruit, the fellow who came out did not look suitable for the employment that Tarsis had to offer. He was small of stature and of sickly mien. His eyes were those of a fish, but he moved with the tread of a panther. Tarsis kept on walking, and the other followed at a discreet distance. In that order they proceeded amid the throngs of the corsos and in the streets so quiet that they caught the sound of each other’s footfalls. So certain was Tarsis of the Panther that he did not once glance behind. Before he turned to speak to him they had crossed Via Pier Capponi, the last illuminated street, and were beyond the roofs of the town standing in the great level plain of Army square. There was no mincing matters. In the Sicilian patter, which was the mother tongue of each, Tarsis unfolded his scheme. The wind had blown an opaque shade over the moon and stars. To the northward, where the long line of barrack buildings stood, they could discern lights flitting to and fro and the shadowy movements of men. They hushed their voices once or twice when there came out of the blackness near by the tramp of manœuvring soldiers, the clank of arms, the low-keyed commands of the officers. When the affair had been arranged, to the smallest detail, the Panther closed his paw on a thousand-lira note and vanished in the darkness. Tarsis waited a minute before he made off; then took a path around by the cavalry barracks, and came into the light of the street lamps behind the Dal Verme Theatre. There he found a cabman dozing on his seat. He roused him and named a certain wine-shop hard by the Monforte Gate beyond the walls. “Don’t drive across the city,” he said. “How then, signore?” “Go by the Girdle Road. I wish to have a drive.” “As the signore desires,” said the other, clucking to his nag.