Roma Roselli, who was
lost in the streets of London."

David Rossi seemed suddenly to grow taller.

"You scoundrel!" he said, in a voice that was hollow and choked.

The man staggered back and stammered:

"Why ... what...."

"I knew that girl. Until she was seven years of age she was my constant
companion--she was the same as my sister--and her father was the same as
my father--and if you tell me she is the mistress.... You infamous
wretch! You calumniator! You villain! I could confound you with one
word, but I won't. Out of my house this moment! And if ever you cross my
path again I'll denounce you to the police as a cut-throat and an
assassin."

Stunned and stupefied, the man opened the door and fled.

V

David Rossi came out with his long slow step, looking pale but calm, and
tearing a letter into small pieces, which he threw into the fire.

"What was amiss, sir? They could hear you across the street," said
Bruno.

"A man whose room was better than his company, that's all."

"What's his name?" said Bruno.

"Charles Minghelli."

"Why, that must be the secretary who was suspected of forgery at the
Embassy in London, and got dismissed."

"I thought as much!" said David Rossi. "No doubt the man attributed his
dismissal to the Prime Minister, and wanted to use me for his private
revenge."

"That was his game, was it? Why didn't you let me know, sir? He would
have gone downstairs like a falling star. Now that I remember, he's the
nephew of old Polomba, the Mayor, and I've seen him at Donna Roma's."

A waiter in a white smock, with a large tin box on his head, entered the
hall, and behind him came the old woman from the porter's lodge, with
the wrinkled face and the red cotton handkerchief.

"Come in," cried Bruno. "I ordered the best dinner in the Trattoria,
sir, and thought we might perhaps dine together for once."

"Good," said David Rossi.

"Here it is, a whole basketful of the grace of God, sir! Out with it,
Riccardo," and while the women laid the table, Bruno took the dishes
smoking hot from their temporary oven with its charcoal fire.

"Artichokes--good. Chicken--good again. I must be a fox--I was dreaming
of chicken all last night! _Gnocchi!_ (potatoes and flour baked).
_Agradolce!_ (sour and sweet). _Fagioletti!_ (French beans boiled)
and--a half-flask of Chianti! Who said the son of my mother couldn't
order a dinner? All right, Riccardo; come back at Ave