The boy was asleep, with the moonlight streaming across his pillow. She bent over him hesitatingly, while her heart reproached her at having to wake him and send him out on such an errand. But the next moment she had reflected that it might be the only chance for him as well as for the rest of them, and she laid her hand gently on his forehead. ‘Gervasio,’ she whispered. ‘Wake up, Gervasio. Sh—_silenzio!_ Dress just as fast as you can. No, you haven’t done anything; don’t be frightened. Signor Siberti is going to tell you a secret—_un segreto_,’ she repeated impressively. ‘Put on these clothes,’ she added, hunting out a dark suit from his wardrobe. ‘And never mind your shoes and stockings. Dress _subito, subito_, and then come on tiptoe—_pianissimo_—to Signor Copley’s room.’ Gervasio was into his clothes and after her almost before she had got back. When undirected by Bianca, his dressing was a simple matter. Sybert drew him across the threshold and closed the door. ‘What shall we tell him?’ he questioned Marcia. ‘Tell him the truth. He can understand, and we can trust him.’ And dropping on her knees beside the boy, she laid her hands on his shoulders. ‘Gervasio,’ she said in her slow Italian, ‘some bad, naughty men are coming here to-night to try to kill us and steal our things. Pietro is one of them’ (Pietro had that very afternoon boxed Gervasio’s ears for stealing sugar from the tea-table), ‘and your stepfather is one, and he will take you back to Castel Vivalanti, and you will never see us again.’ Gervasio listened, with his eyes on her face and his lips parted in horror. Sybert here broke in and explained about the soldiers, and how he was to reach the guard at the corners, and he ended by hiding the note in the front of his blouse. ‘Do you understand?’ he asked, ‘do you think you can do it?’ Gervasio nodded, his eyes now shining with excitement. ‘I’ll bring the soldiers,’ he whispered, ‘_sicure_, signore, _sicurissimo_! And if they catch me,’ he added, ‘I’ll say the _padrone_ has whipped me and I’m running away.’ ‘You’ll do,’ Sybert said with a half-laugh, and taking the boy by the hand, he led the way back to the middle staircase, and the three crept down with as little noise as possible. They traversed on tiptoe the long brick passageway that led to the kitchen, and paused upon the threshold. The great stone-walled room was empty and quiet and echoing as on the first day they had come to the villa. The doors and windows were swinging wide and the moonlight was streaming in. Sybert shook his head in a puzzled frown. ‘What I can’t make out,’ he said in a low tone, ‘is why they should leave everything so open. They must have known that we would find out before we went to bed that the servants were missing. Who usually locks up?’ ‘Pietro.’