somethingso incongruous, so ugly, so utterly rasping upon the nerves in Milanthat it is decidedly a city to get away from. The place bears theimpress of all that is bad in Italian art of to-day, combined with allthe worst features of that complex life which is known as Modern Italy.
Opposite the hotel stood the great stucco arcade, the Gallery of VictorEmmanuel, one of the greatest, if not actually the greatest, in Europe,and about eleven o'clock her ladyship emerged from her hotel alone andwandered through the arcade looking into the shop windows, some of thoseestablishments being the best and most expensive in Italy.
She little dreamed of my presence as I followed her. Previously I hadbought a grey felt hat of Italian shape in order that my English"bowler" should not be conspicuous, and with my watchful eyes upon her Isauntered on, wondering why she was waiting. She returned to the hotelto lunch, and in the afternoon went for a drive around the bastions,which, planted with limes now, form the _passeggiata_ of the prosperousMilanese.
It surprised me that Logan and his companion did not return to her, andI regretted that I had not ascertained whither they had gone. At seveno'clock that evening, however, she went alone to the large restaurant inthe Galleria known as Biffi's, and entering found the three men seatedat table expecting her. Each greeted her with deep deference, thenreseated themselves, and she dined with them.
From where I sat, engrossed in my _Tribuna_--the top of my headconcealed by my new grey hat--I could see that now and then theconversation was of a confidential character, and I also noticed certainstrange meaning looks exchanged between the men when the woman'sattention was otherwise engaged.
The three men were certainly not the kind of persons one would haveexpected as associates of a woman of the Countess of Stanchester'swealth and social distinction. Her beauty, however, was, I saw,everywhere remarked, even in that foreign cafe.
"Una bellissima donna!" remarked a man seated near to me to hiscompanion, as he sipped his vermouth and seltzer. "English, I believe.I wonder what those thieves want with her? She evidently don't knowtheir character, or she and the Englishman wouldn't be seen with themhere, in a public restaurant!"
I was quickly on the alert. These men, probably petty officialsemployed in the Municipal Offices, had recognised the sallow-faced manwho had met Logan at Calais, and his companion. I recollected thecurious incident at Hayes's Farm, and the fact that two foreigners hadbeen of the mysterious party who had lived in concealment there. Werethey, I wondered, these self-same men. They were Italians, no doubt,for had they not read the _Avanti_ and the _Secolo_ and other journals,some of which they had left behind on their sudden flight?
Fortunately one of the Continental languages with which I was acquaintedwas Italian; therefore I turned to the two men seated close to me, andraising my hat politely explained that I had overheard their remarks,and that as the lady and gentleman were my friends I would esteem it afavour if they would give me some further information regarding the twomen seated with them at table.
"Why do you wish to know?" inquired the man who had made the remark thathad so attracted my attention.
"Well, because my English friends are negotiating some financialbusiness with them," I explained.
"Oh!" he smiled. "Well then, you can tell your friends that those twomen are well-known in Milan, and especially in this cafe, as knights ofindustry--persons who live by their wits. I haven't see them here formonths, and believed that they'd fallen into the hands of the law. Butit seems that they're flourishing still."
"What is known against them?" I asked in Italian. "Are you aware oftheir names?"
"Yes," was his reply. "I may as well tell you that I am a _delegato_ ofpolice myself, and I happen to know those two very interestinggentlemen. The tall man is Tito Belotto, a Roman, and the otherBernardo Ostini, a Lucchese. And the name of the beautifulEnglishwoman? Who is she?"
"She is from London--a Mrs Price," I answered, pronouncing the firstname that came into my head, for I was by no means anxious that thisdetective should know her real name.
"Well," he remarked, "you can warn her to have nothing to do with them,otherwise she must suffer, both in reputation as well as in pocket," hesmiled, and then, having finished his vermouth, he rose with hiscompanion and left.
Then the sallow-faced fellow who had met them at Calais was TitoBelotto, an adventurer! And yet as he sat there in evening dress,smoking his cigar and chatting affably with the handsome Englishwoman,his outward appearance was that of a somewhat superior man. In hisshirt-front there shone a small diamond of very good water, and on hisfinger was another gem that caught the electric light and flashed itsradiance towards me.
He had been relating some humorous anecdote to her ladyship, who waslaughing heartily at it. Evidently she was in a good-humour, just asthese men wished her to be. Belotto, I noticed, paid for the dinner,and then all four walked down the arcade into the Piazza where theyentered a closed cab and were driven off.
My own idea is that they were going to a theatre, but as I followed themin another conveyance I quickly found that we were travelling in anopposite direction, namely up the broad Corso Venezia and out by thecity gate into that suburb that lies beyond the ancient fortifications.Outside the town the streets are not well-lighted, and the quarter isnot one of the most aristocratic. Most of the houses were huge blocksof flats as is usual in Italian cities, and it struck me that they weremostly occupied by labourers. Even at that hour of the night the airseemed close, and a strong odour of garlic permeated everything.
The cab in which the four were riding turned at last into a darkdeserted street of high prison-like houses and pulled up, when instantlyI ordered my man to stop, jumped out, paid him, and secreted myself in aneighbouring doorway before the first man who alighted could detect mypresence.
From the house where they had stopped a man came forth, carrying alantern, by the light of which he conducted them into that ponderoushouse of darkness.
The cab then drove off, leaving me alone in the dark dismal street. Thehouse they had entered was a big inartistic place apparentlynewly-built, for it stood slightly apart from the other buildings, andbehind it was a waste plot of ground. From the other tenements in thevicinity came the cries of children, the strumming of a mandoline, awoman's song, and a man's voice raised in angry altercation--that babelof noises that one hears at night in every crowded street of an Italiantown, and more especially in that noisiest of European cities--Milan.
Why, I wondered, had they gone there? That Marigold was unacquaintedwith the place, and that she was not altogether confident in theassurances of her conductors, was shown to me by the cautious manner inwhich she followed the man with the lantern. Besides, I saw distinctlythat the two Italians, following her, nudged each other.
Not a light showed in any single window of the place, for at most ofthem the wooden sun-shutters were closed, as is the Italian habit atnight. In one part of the building, however, the windows were devoid ofglass, from which I concluded that the place was not yet completelyfinished. And then it occurred to me that the man with the lanternmight be its first occupant.
The minutes lengthened into hours, but I still kept my patient silentvigil. The noises in the other houses around died down, until all washushed in sleep. I emerged from the doorway and strolled backwards andforwards in the dark and dismal roadway. The closed door of the housewhere the Countess had been taken was freshly painted, but beyond that Icould gather nothing from its exterior.
I looked at my watch and found that it was half-past two. Then I satdown upon a heap of stones close by, waiting for the dawn, and thinkingalways of Lolita.
I suppose I had been there some twenty minutes or so, when of a sudden Iheard a shrill whistle which, as far as I could judge, proceeded fromone of the shuttered windows of the unfinished house.
Three times was the whistle blown, when a few moments later I heard therattle of wheels, and the same cab that had conveyed them there drew upagain before the door.
> There were no lights on it, however, neither did any light show when thedoor of the house was opened.
But as I watched I saw something which caused my eyes to start out of myhead in astonishment, for the dim light was just sufficient for me todiscern two men emerging from the mysterious place, carrying betweenthem to the cab the inanimate form of a woman covered with a dark cloth.
The woman's arm swung helplessly to the ground as they carried her, andI knew by their suspicious manners, and their hushed whispers, that shewas dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
IS STILL MORE MYSTERIOUS.
I held my breath. What mystery had I discovered? Marigold had beensecretly done to death by these hard-faced foreigners!
There was no light save one single lamp at the far end of the road, andby its feeble rays I saw that the silhouettes of the two men who carriedtheir burden to the
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