As the door closed behind him when he emerged from the great portico into the foggy night, the short, dark figure of a rather thin man in a soft deer-stalker hat and dark overcoat slunk quickly out of the shadow of a doorway almost opposite, crossed the road, and hurried after him with laboured breath. Of a sudden as Dudley, having gone a hundred yards or so, turned to glance behind him for an approaching cab, he came face to face with the fellow who, if the truth were told, had for nearly two hours been patiently awaiting his appearance. "Pardon, signore!" exclaimed the black-haired, sharp-featured man, speaking with a decided Italian accent. He was somewhat taken aback by the abrupt termination of his rather clumsy efforts at espionage. "I beg the signore a thousand pardons, but may I be permitted to have a parolina [little word] with him?" CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. IN WHICH THE STRANGER STATES HIS MISSION. "Well, what do you want?" Chisholm inquired sharply, glancing keenly at the foreigner, and not approving of his appearance. "I want a word with the signore," the man who had accosted him answered, with an air almost of authority. "I don't know you," replied the Under-Secretary, "and have no desire to hold intercourse with perfect strangers." "It is true that I am unknown to the signore," said the man in very fair English, "but I am here, in London, on purpose to speak with you. I ascertained that you were visiting at yonder palazzo; therefore, I waited." "And why do you wish to speak with me? Surely you might have found a more fitting opportunity than this--you could have waited until to-morrow." "No. The signore is watched," said the man as he began to walk at Dudley's side among the throngs of people, for in Knightsbridge there is always considerable movement after the theatres have closed and the tide of pleasure-seekers is flowing westward. "I have waited for this opportunity to ask the signore to make an appointment with me." "Can't you tell me your business now?" inquired Chisholm suspiciously, not half liking the fellow's look. He spoke English fairly well, but his rather narrow face was not a reassuring one. An Englishman is always apt, however, to judge the Italian physiognomy unjustly, for those who look the fiercest and the most like brigands are, in the experience of those who live in Italy, generally the most harmless persons. "To speak here is impossible," he declared, glancing about him. "I must not be seen with you. Even at this moment it is dangerous. Give me a rendezvous quickly, signore, and let me leave you. We may be seen. If so, my mission is futile." "You have a mission, then. Of what character?" "I will tell you everything, signore, when we meet. Where can I see you?" "At my house in St. James's Street--in an hour's time."