The stranger was not aware that I had detected the fierce look of hatred that, for a single instant, showed in his dark shining eyes. It was an expression that I did not like--an expression of fierce, relentless, even murderous resentment. I was about to assure him of Sammy's utter disinclination to poke fun at any foreigner, when I saw that if I did so I should only aggravate the situation. Therefore I let it pass. The Italian was a man of refinement, exquisite of manner towards the ladies as was all his race, and though I cannot explain it he struck me as being well-born, and superior to those sitting at table with him. Yet he vouchsafed but little as regards himself. Italy was his home-- that was all. And Italy is a great place; a country of a hundred nations. The Venetian is of a different race from the Sicilian, the Tuscan from the Calabrian. I still suspected he was a Tuscan, yet he spoke the Italian tongue so well that at one moment I put him down as a born Florentine, while at the next as a Livornese or a Roman. He saw that I knew Italy and the Italians, and was purposely endeavouring to mislead me. That same night, just after midnight, Jane, one of the maids-of-all-work, rapped at my door, saying:-- "Please, sir, the Italian gentleman's been taken awful ill. We can't make out what 'e wants. Would you kindly go to 'im?" I dressed hurriedly, and, ascending to the stranger's room, asked, in Italian, permission to enter. A faint voice responded, and a moment later I was at the stranger's bedside. The feeble light of the single candle showed a great change in his countenance, and I saw that he was suffering severely and seemed to be choking. "I--I thank you very much, signore, for coming to me," he said, with considerable difficulty. "I am having one of my bad attacks--I--I--" "Had you not better see a doctor? I'll call a friend of mine, if you'll allow me." "Yes. Perhaps it would really be best," was his reply, and I saw that his hands were clenched in sudden pain. Therefore, after telling Sammy of the foreigner's illness, I put on my hat and went round into the Holland Road for my friend Tulloch. The latter came with me at once, and as soon as I had interpreted the stranger's symptoms, and he had made a careful examination, he turned to me and said in English:-- "The man's very bad--cancer in the stomach. He's evidently been near death half a dozen times, and this will probably prove fatal. Don't frighten him, Godfrey, but just put it to him as quietly as you can. Tell him that he's really very much worse than he thinks." "Is it worth while to tell the poor fellow the truth?" I argued. "It may only have a bad effect upon him." "His other doctors have, no doubt, already warned him. Besides it's only fair that he should know his danger. I never keep the truth from a patient when things are desperate, like this." "Then you hold out but little hope of him?"