my opinion frankly," he said to them, as he opened a flask
of line Chianti for their behoof, "I believe the villain Carmelo is
somewhere about Gaeta. I would not tell you a lie--why should I? Is
there not a reward offered, and am not I poor? Look you, I would do my
best to assist you!"

One of the men looked at him dubiously.

"We received information," he said, in precise, business-like tones,
"that Neri escaped from Gaeta two months since, and was aided and
abetted in his escape by one Andrea Luziani, owner of the coasting brig
'Laura,' journeying for purposes of trade between Naples and Palermo.
You are Andrea Luziani, and this is the brig 'Laura,'--we are right in
this; is it not so?"

"As if you could ever be wrong, caro!" cried the captain with
undiminished gayety, clapping him on the shoulder. "Nay, if St. Peter
should have the bad taste to shut you out of heaven, you would be
cunning enough to find another and better entrance! Ah, Dio! I believe
it! Yes, you are right about my name and the name of my brig, but in
the other things,"--here he shook his fingers with an expressive sign
of denial--"you are wrong--wrong--all wrong!" He broke into a gay
laugh. "Yes, wrong--but we will not quarrel about it! Have some more
Chianti! Searching for brigands is thirsty work. Fill your glasses,
amici--spare not the flask--there are twenty more below stairs!"

The officers smiled in spite of themselves, as they drank the proffered
wine, and the youngest-looking of the party, a brisk, handsome fellow,
entered into the spirit of the captain with ardor, though he evidently
thought he should trap him into a confession unawares, by the apparent
carelessness and bonhomie of his manner.

"Bravo, Andrea!" he cried, merrily. "So! let us all be friends
together! Besides, what harm is there in taking a brigand for a
passenger--no doubt he would pay you better than most cargoes!"

But Andrea was not to be so caught. On the contrary; he raised his
hands and eyes with an admirably feigned expression of shocked alarm.

"Our Lady and the saints forgive you!" he exclaimed, piously, "for
thinking that I, an honest marinaro, would accept one baiocco from an
accursed brigand! Ill-luck would follow me ever after! Nay, nay--there
has been a mistake; I know nothing of Carmelo Neri, and I hope the
saints will grant that I may never meet him!"

He spoke with so much apparent sincerity that the officers in command
were evidently puzzled, thou