w, Fra Pacifico," I said, as I reseated myself. "I know you are
cognizant of something concerning this lady, Yolanda Romanelli. What
is it? Tell me."

Thus pressed, he rather reluctantly told me a strange story.

"Well!" I exclaimed at last when he had finished. "It is all really
incredible. Are you quite certain of it?"

"Signor Hargreave, what I have told you is what I really believe to be
true. That woman is in a high position, I know. She married the
Marchese, but I am convinced that she is an adventuress--and more. She
is a wicked woman! God forgive me for telling you this."

"But are you quite certain?" I repeated.

"Signore, I have told you what I know," he answered gravely, tapping
his great horn snuff-box and taking a pinch, tobacco being forbidden
him by the rules of his Order. "I have told you what I know--and also
what I suspect. You can make whatever use of the knowledge you like.
Yolanda Romanelli is a handsome woman--as you will see for yourself if
you meet her," he added in a strange reflective voice.

"That means going down to Naples," I remarked.

"Yes, go there. Be watchful, and you will discover something in
progress which will interest you. But be careful. As an enemy she is
dangerous."

"But her husband, the Marquis? Does he know nothing?"

Fra Pacifico hitched up the rope around his waist and made an
impetuous gesture.

"Poor fellow! He suspects nothing!"

"Well, Pacifico," I said, "do be frank with me. How do you know all
this?"

"No," he replied. "There are certain things I cannot tell you--things
which occurred in the past--before I took my vow and entered this
place. I was once of your own world, Signor Hargreave. Now I am not.
It is all of the past," he added in a hard, determined voice.

"You have been in London. I feel sure of it, Pacifico," I said, for by
his conversation he had often betrayed knowledge of England, and more
especially of London.

"Ah! I do not deny it," laughed the broad-faced, easy-going man, now
again seated in his rush-bottomed chair. "I know your hotels in
London--the Savoy, the Carlton, the Ritz, and the Berkeley. I've
lunched and dined and supped at them all. I've shopped in Bond Street,
and I've lost money at Ascot. Oh, yes!" he laughed. "I know your
wonderful London! And now I have nothing in the world--not a soldo of
my own. I am simply a Brother--and I am content," he said, with a
strange look of peace and resignation.

We who live outside the