took her cold hand and kissed it. Then he turned
again to the duke.

"I offer you my apologies for this intrusion," he said, and the two men
bowed to each other.

"And now, signor," he said in Italian to the amazed official, "I am at
your service."

CHAPTER V

Qui sait tout souffrir peut tout oser.--VAUVENARGUES.

Michael was imprisoned for the night in a cell attached to the Court of
Mandamento, and the next day was sent to Rome to await his trial at the
_assise_.

Early on the second day after he reached Rome the duke came to him. The
two men looked fixedly at each other. They exchanged no form of
greeting.

The duke made a little sign with his hand, and the warder withdrew
outside the cell door, which he left ajar.

Then the duke sat down by Michael.

"I should have come yesterday," he said in English, "but it took time to
gain permission, and also"--he nodded towards the door--"to arrange."

"For God's sake give me details," said Michael.

The duke gave them in a low voice. He described in a careful sequence
the exact position of the dead body, the wound, caused by stabbing in
the back, the strong inference that the murdered man had been attacked
in the road, and then dragged just inside the Colle Alto garden door.

"I don't see any reason why he should have gone outside the garden,"
said Michael.

"Neither do I. But the garden door was unlocked. It had been locked as
usual, my gardener swears, and the key left in the lock on the inside.
Who then opened it, if for some reason the marchese did not open it
himself?"

Michael did not answer.

"I saw the body before it was moved," continued the duke. "It was still
warm. I incline to think the marchese was murdered actually inside the
garden, and that he fell on his face where he stood, and was dragged
behind the hydrangeas. But the _delegato_ thought differently. You will
remember, Carstairs, that the dead man had been dragged by the feet."

"Did I put him on the right side or the left of the door as you go in?"

"On the left."

"On his face?"

"Yes."

There was a pause.

"You had no quarrel with the marchese, I presume?" said the duke
significantly.

"On the contrary," said Michael; "it is not known, but I had."

"Just so. Just so. About a woman?"

Michael winced.

"About a horse," he said.

"No," said the duke, with decision. "Think again. Your memory does not
serve you. It was about a woman. Was it not a dancing-girl?"