ed his lips and lowered
his eyes, as though trying to invent a fanciful story--"take a
transaction such as your letting me have that picture. One could build a
very stirring case upon that!"

"Yes?" encouraged the prince. "How do you mean?"

"Well, to begin, we would send word to the government that your Raphael
Madonna had been sold out of the country."

"I don't think that a good beginning, because it is easy enough to prove
it is in your palace."

"Ah, of course. But for the amusement of the argument we will say that I
_want_ to do you an injury and so smuggle it out of the country! Then
when I am questioned, I deny all knowledge of it. Yes, I would have you
there! It would be quite feasible, because no one saw the picture change
hands, and your notes to me--the only proof of the transfer--could
easily be destroyed. You see? This really grows interesting! Then comes
all the cumulative evidence of the type I was speaking about; for
instance: After the supposed sale of the picture, you indulge in
unwonted expenditures--of course, it is easy to say that they are those
of the American heiress stopping with you"--he paused, in apparent
thoughtfulness--"but when, in addition, an enemy buys in Paris a pair of
earrings, matchless emeralds, that are recognized as having been
worn----"

"_Dio mio!_ My wife's emeralds!" Sansevero was startled into exclaiming.
Then suddenly he blazed out: "What do you mean by your story? If you
have anything to say, say it so I can follow you."

From the gross lips of the duke his apology fell like drops of thickest
oil: "I regret you take my pleasantry so ill, and I ask your pardon as
many times as you require, my friend! It happened by chance that I saw a
pair of emeralds in Paris that were duplicates of the magnificent gems I
have often admired when the princess wore them, and the jeweler told me
that they had been sold at a sacrifice by a noble lady in urgent need of
money. The curious coincidence came to my mind in illustration of the
problems I was talking of. Further than that I meant nothing--except
that I was serious in what I said about repaying the man who should
bring about my marriage."

They had long since passed through the Porta San Giovanni and had
arrived at the Coliseum. Scorpa gave Sansevero little chance to answer,
but with a friendly good-by, he turned toward the Monte Quirinal.
Sansevero pursued his way along the foot of the Palatine. He was
disturbed; but he coul