"Yes, do so. To-morrow is the seventeenth. You will be back by the twentieth?" "If my business is done," said Hugo. And then he went back to his little experiments in caligraphy. It was not until the afternoon of the 18th of August that he found himself at the door of No. 14, Tarragon-street. It was a dingy-looking house in a dismal-looking street. Hugo shivered a little as he pulled the tarnished bell-handle. "How can people live in streets like this?" he said to himself, with a slight contemptuous shrug of his shoulders. "Mr. Vasari?" he said, interrogatively, as a downcast-looking woman came to the door. "Yes, sir. What name, sir, if you please?" "Say that a gentleman from Scotland wishes to see him." The woman gave him a keen look, as if she knew something of the errand upon which Dino Vasari had come to her house; but said nothing, and ushered him at once into a sitting-room on the ground-floor. The room was curtained so heavily that it seemed nearly dark. Hugo could not see whether it was tenanted by more than one person; of one he was sure, because that one person came to meet him with outstretched hands and eager words of greeting. "Mr. Luttrell! You have come, then; you have come--I knew you would!" "I beg your pardon," said Hugo, and at the sound of his voice the first speaker fell back amazed; "but I am Hugo Luttrell--not Brian. I come from him." "A thousand pardons; this English darkness is to blame," said the other, in fluent English speech, though with a slightly foreign accent. "Let us have lights; then we can know each other. I am--Dino Vasari." He said the name with a certain hesitation, as though not sure whether or no he ought to call himself by it. The light of a candle fell suddenly upon the two faces--which were turned towards one another in some curiosity. The two had a kind of superficial likeness of feature, but a total dissimilarity of expression. The subtlety of Hugo's eyes and mouth was never shown more clearly than when contrasted with the noble gravity that marked every line of Dino's traits. They stood and looked at each other for a moment--Dino, wrapped in admiration; Hugo, lost in a thought of dark significance. "So you are the man!" he was saying to himself. "You call yourself my cousin, do you? And you want the Strathleckie and the Luttrell estates? Be warned and go back to Italy, my good cousin, while you have time; you will never reach Scotland alive, I promise you. I shall kill you first, as I should kill a snake lying in my path. Never in your life, Mr. Dino Vasari, were you in greater danger than you are just now." CHAPTER XXI. A FLASK OF ITALIAN WINE. "I am Brian Luttrell's cousin," said Hugo, quietly, "and I come from him." "Then you know--you know----" Dino stammered, and he looked eagerly into Hugo's face. "I know all." "You know where he is now?"