‘Yes; in the top drawer of his writing-table.’ She stepped into Mr. Copley’s room and pulled open the drawer. ‘Why, it’s gone!’ ‘I say, the plot thickens!’ and Sybert, too, uttered a short, low laugh, as Copley had done on the terrace. ‘And the rifle’s gone,’ Marcia added, her glance wandering to the corner where the gun-case usually stood. ‘It’s evident that our friend Pietro has been helping himself; but if he thinks he’s going to shoot us with our own arms he’s mistaken. We must get word to the soldiers at Palestrina—did you tell me the servants were gone?’ ‘I couldn’t find any one but Granton. The whole house is empty.’ ‘It’s the Camorra!’ he exclaimed softly. ‘The Camorra?’ Marcia paled a trifle at the name. ‘Ah—it’s plain enough. We should have suspected it before. Pietro is a member and has been acting as a spy from the inside. It appears to be a very prettily worked out plot. They have waited until they think there’s money in the house; your uncle has just sold a big consignment of wheat. They have probably dismissed the servants with their usual formula: “Be silent, and you live; speak, and you die.” The servants would be more afraid of the Camorra than of the police.—How about the stablemen?’ ‘Oh, I can’t believe they’d join a plot against us,’ Marcia cried. ‘Angelo and Giovanni I would trust anywhere.’ ‘In that case they’ve been silenced; they are where they won’t give testimony until it is too late. I dare say the fellows are even planning to ride off on the horses themselves. By morning they would be well into the mountains of the Abruzzi, where the Camorrists are at home. We’ll have to get help from Palestrina. If we could reach those guards at the cross-roads, they would ride in with the message. It’s only two miles away, but——’ He frowned a trifle. ‘I suppose the house is closely watched, and it will be difficult to get out unseen. We’ll have to try it, though.’ ‘Whom can we send?’ He was silent a moment. ‘I don’t like to leave you,’ he said slowly, ‘but I’m afraid I’ll have to go.’ ‘Oh!’ said Marcia, with a little gasp. She stood looking down at the floor with troubled eyes, and Sybert watched her, careless that the time was passing. Marcia suddenly raised her eyes, with an exclamation of relief. ‘Gervasio!’ she cried. ‘We can send Gervasio.’ ‘Could we trust him?’ he doubted. ‘Anywhere! And he can get away without being seen easier than you could. I am sure he can do it; he is very intelligent.’ ‘I’d forgotten him. Yes, I believe that is the best way. You go and wake him, and I’ll write a note to the soldiers.’ Sybert turned to the writing-table as he spoke, and Marcia hurried back to Gervasio’s room.