‘I am certain because he has not got his story right. He is masquerading—pretending to be what he is not, and he is all confused as to his antecedents. Fancy being so stupid as to try and play a part without knowing exactly how to do it, and what to say—just like a man! Men are such clumsy creatures! One time he told me he had just come from Florence, from a Signor Something who gave him an introduction. Then he said another time he had been in Rome until he came here, and had travelled straight to England; and once he slipped out something which showed he had been in Germany quite lately; but he saw he had tripped that time, and tried to explain his words away—the very stupidest thing he could have done, of course. He didn’t know how many times he contradicted himself, but I kept count. Whoever that man is, he is playing a part, and he is a spy!’ CHAPTER XIII. PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS. Miss Marjory was convinced by the experiences gathered in a few hours’ time, that Tor’s position was growing distinctly awkward, and might easily become dangerous. Signor Pagliadini was a spy—of that she was fully convinced; though what could be his motive for playing such a part, or who could have set him on to do it, still remained a mystery. He could hardly be an emissary of Belassis. If that worthy had discovered the imposition practised by Tor, he would not have any need to bring forward a foreigner to expose the fraud. A much simpler and more effective way would be to expose it himself, which could be done, without any great difficulty if once the clue had been secured. It was improbable to the last degree that a stranger, totally unconcerned in the matter, should give himself all the trouble Signor Pagliadini was now doing, simply from an abstract love of justice; yet, if not a creature of Belassis, nor yet a total stranger, who could this man possibly be? Miss Marjory was a shrewd woman; and although her quick wits often led her to conclusions for which no logical premises could be adduced, these same conclusions had a remarkable way of turning out right in the end, and therefore she had learned to put a greater confidence in them than circumstances seemed always to warrant. No stranger, Miss Marjory argued, who had simply known these two Englishmen abroad, would care two straws about the matter, even if he did find out that they had made an exchange of names. He would either think that he had been mistaken the first time as to their identity, or else he would conclude that one was acting for the other, and would never dream of interfering. Englishmen were all more or less mad, he would conclude, and were best let alone.