n the bottom of
an old writing-case which had belonged to my father, resolving to try
to forget their existence.

Though perhaps I did at last manage to forget the bribe, yet I could
not put from myself the memory of that beautiful girl, the cause of
whose death I had certified. The perfect countenance haunted me
constantly. In my dreams I often saw her alive and well. The
marvellous face was turned towards me, with merry, dancing dark eyes
and a tantalizing smile--an enticing smile of mystery.

At last I resolved to go and face Oswald De Gex, so with that object I
one morning left Charing Cross for Florence. Travelling by the Rome
express from the Gare de Lyon, in Paris, I changed at Pisa, and at
last, as the "snail train," as it is known in Italy on account of its
slowness, wound slowly up the beautiful valley of the Arno, the old
red roofs and domes of Firenze La Bella came into view.

The winter morning was sunny and brilliant with a clear blue sky, and
as I drove through the streets, past the marble-built Duomo with its
wonderful campanile, the city was agog, for it happened to be the
_Festa_ of the Befana.

I had left my bag at the station, and the taxi took me to Fiesole, the
high-up little town outside which lived the "rich Inglese"--Oswald De
Gex.

Long before we arrived the driver pointed out the huge, mediaeval
country house situated among the olives and vines, and commanding
extensive views over Florence and the Arno, with the blue mountains
beyond. It was a great white house with red tiles and overhanging
eaves, palatial indeed in its dimensions, and for centuries the summer
residence of the head of the great family of Clementini, from whom the
English millionaire had bought it fifteen years before, together with
all its pictures, tapestries, and antiques, with the farms adjoining.

On entering the great gates of seventeenth century wrought iron, we
found ourselves in a glorious old-world Italian garden, with a
wonderful marble fountain, and a good deal of antique statuary, and
then driving through the extensive grounds--past a lake--I at last
rang the bell.

Quickly the great iron-studded door was opened by an elderly
Englishman in livery, to whom I gave my card, and asked to see his
master.

The man, without hesitation, ushered me through a huge marble-built
hall, with a wonderfully frescoed ceiling, into a large room hung with
priceless tapestry, and furnished with old gilt chairs covered with