"That is the reason why I am in London. As the signore is watched by the most practised and experienced secret agents, it was with difficulty that I succeeded in approaching him. If those men track me down and discover who I am, then all will be lost--everything." The paper he held in his hand told him that this stranger could be trusted. He was essentially a man of the world, and was not in the habit of trusting those whom he did not know. And yet, what credential could be more convincing than that innocent-looking love-token of the past? "But why are these men, whoever they are, watching me? What interest can they possibly have in my movements? The day of the Irish agitation is over," he said in a somewhat incredulous tone. "The signorina in her message wishes to give you warning that you are in the deadliest peril," the man said in a low voice, bending towards him so that none should overhear. "Speak in Italian, if you wish," Dudley suggested. "I can understand, and it will be safer." The eyes of Francesco Marucci sparkled for a moment at this announcement, and he exclaimed in that soft Tuscan tongue which is so musical to English ears: "Benissimo! I had no idea the signore knew Italian. The signorina did not tell me so." It chanced that Chisholm knew Italian far better than French. As he had learnt it when, in his youth, he had spent two years in Siena, he spoke good Italian without that curious aspiration of the "c's" which is so characteristically Tuscan. "Perhaps the signorina did not know," he said in response. "The signore is to be congratulated on speaking so well our language!" the stranger exclaimed. "It makes things so much easier. Your English is so very difficult with its `w's' and its Greek `i's', and all the rest of the puzzles. We Italians can never speak it properly." "But the message," demanded Dudley rather impatiently. "Tell me quickly, for in five minutes or so this place will be closed, and we shall be turned out into the street." "The message of the signorina is a simple one," answered Marucci in Italian. "It is to warn you to leave England secretly and at once. To fly instantly--to-morrow--because the truth is known." "The truth known!" he gasped, half rising from his seat, then dropping back and glaring fixedly at the stranger. "Yes," the man replied. "It is unfortunately so." "How do you know that?" "How?" repeated the thin-faced Tuscan, bending towards Chisholm in a confidential manner. "Because I chance to be in the service of your enemies." "What? You are in the British Secret Service?" cried the Under-Secretary, amazed by this revelation. "Si, signore. I am under the Signor Capitano Cator." "And you are also in the service of the Signorina Mortimer?" "That is so," answered the man, smiling. "You are actually one of Cator's agents?"