Mrs. Copley looked at him reproachfully. ‘That horrible man! I never think of him without wishing we were safely back in America.’ ‘Then please don’t think of him,’ her husband returned. ‘He is where he won’t trouble you any more.’ ‘What man?’ asked Marcia, emerging from a dignified silence. ‘Is it possible Miss Marcia has never heard of the tattooed man?’ Sybert inquired gravely. ‘The tattooed man! What _are_ you talking about?’ ‘It has a somewhat theatrical ring,’ Mr. Copley admitted. ‘It is nothing to make light of,’ said his wife. ‘It’s a wonder to me that we escaped with our lives. Three years ago, while we were in Naples,’ she added to her niece, ‘your uncle, with his usual recklessness, got mixed up with one of the secret societies. Our villa was out toward Posilipo, and one afternoon I was driving home at about dusk—I had been shopping in the city—and just as we reached a lonely place in the road, between two high walls——’ Mr. Copley broke in: ‘A masked man armed to the teeth sprang up in the path, with a horrible oath.’ ‘Not really!’ Marcia cried, leaning forward delightedly. ‘Aunt Katherine, _did_ a masked man——’ ‘He wasn’t masked, but I wish he had been; he would have looked less ferocious. He came straight to the side of the carriage, and taking off his hat with a very polite bow, he said that unless we left Naples in three days your uncle’s life would no longer be safe. His shirt was open at the throat, and there was a crucifix tattooed upside down on his breast. You can imagine what a desperate character he must have been—here in Italy of all places, where the people are so religious.’ The two men laughed at the climax. ‘What did you do?’ Marcia asked. ‘I was too shocked to speak, and Gerald, poor child, screamed all the way home.’ ‘And did you leave the city?’ ‘As it happened, we were leaving anyway,’ her uncle put in; ‘but we postponed our departure long enough for me to hunt the fellow down and put him in jail.’ ‘You may be thankful that they had the decency to warn you,’ Sybert remarked. ‘It’s like a dime novel!’ Marcia sighed. ‘To be mixed up with murders and warnings and tattooed men and secret societies——Why didn’t you send for me, Uncle Howard?’ ‘Well, you see, I didn’t know that you had grown up into such a charming person—though I am not sure that it would have made any difference. I had all that I could do to take care of one woman.’ ‘That’s the way,’ she complained. ‘Just because one’s a girl one is always shut up in the house while there’s anything exciting going on.’ ‘If you are so fond of bloodshed,’ Sybert suggested, ‘you may possibly have a chance of seeing some this spring.’ ‘This spring? Is the Camorra making trouble again?’ ‘Oh, no; not the Camorra. But unless all signs fail, there is a prospect of some fairly exciting riots.’ ‘Really? Here in Rome?’