‘I warned you that if you let that wheat be sold in your name you could expect the honour,’ Sybert growled. ‘What do you mean?’ Marcia asked quickly. ‘Just at present, Miss Marcia, I’m afraid that neither your uncle nor myself is as popular as our virtues demand.’ ‘Oh, there’s no danger,’ said Copley. ‘They wouldn’t dare break into the house, and of course I sha’n’t be fool enough to walk the country-side unarmed. The first thing in the morning, I shall send into Palestrina for some carabinieri to patrol the place. And on Monday the family can move into Rome instead of waiting till Wednesday. There’s nothing to be afraid of,’ he added, with a reassuring glance at Marcia. ‘Forewarned is forearmed—we’ll see that the house is locked to-night.’ ‘Can you trust the servants?’ Sybert asked. Copley looked up quickly as a thought struck him. ‘By Jove! I don’t know that I can. Come to think of it, I shouldn’t trust that Pietro as far as I could see him. He’s been acting mighty queer lately.’ Marcia’s eyes suddenly widened in terror, and she recalled one afternoon when she had caught Pietro in the village talking to Gervasio’s stepfather, as well as a dozen other little things that she had not thought of at the time, but which now seemed to have a secret meaning. Sybert saw her look of fear and he said lightly: ‘There’s not the slightest danger, Miss Marcia. We’ll get the soldiers here in the morning; and for to-night, even if we can’t put much trust in the butler, there are at least three men in the house who are above suspicion and who are armed.’ He touched his pocket with a laugh. ‘When it comes to the point I am a very fair shot, and so is your uncle. You were wishing a little while ago that something exciting would happen—if it gives you any pleasure, you can pretend that this is an adventure.’ ‘Oh, yes, Marcia,’ her uncle rejoined. ‘Don’t let the thought of the tattooed man disturb your sleep. He’s more spectacular than dangerous.’ The others had come out on to the loggia and were exclaiming at the beauty of the night. ‘Howard,’ Mrs. Copley called, ‘don’t you want to come and make a fourth at whist?’ ‘In a moment,’ he returned. ‘We won’t say anything to the others,’ he said in a low tone to Marcia and Sybert. ‘There’s no use raising any unnecessary excitement.’ ‘Marcia, if you and Mr. Sybert would like to play, we can make it six-handed euchre instead of whist.’ Sybert glanced down to see that her hand was trembling, and he decided that to make her sit through a game of cards would be too great a test of her nerves. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Copley,’ he called back; ‘it’s too fine a night to pass indoors. Miss Marcia and I will stay out here.’ The proposal was a test of his own nerves, but he had schooled himself for a good many years to hide his feelings; it was an ordeal he was used to.