obliged to you if you will answer
them."

The Gadfly smiled. "My ch-ch-chief occupation at p-p-present is to be
asked questions."

"And--not to answer them? So I have heard; but these questions are put
by officials who are investigating your case and whose duty is to use
your answers as evidence."

"And th-those of Your Eminence?" There was a covert insult in the tone
more than in the words, and the Cardinal understood it at once; but his
face did not lose its grave sweetness of expression.

"Mine," he said, "whether you answer them or not, will remain between
you and me. If they should trench upon your political secrets, of course
you will not answer. Otherwise, though we are complete strangers to each
other, I hope that you will do so, as a personal favour to me."

"I am ent-t-tirely at the service of Your Eminence." He said it with a
little bow, and a face that would have taken the heart to ask favours
out of the daughters of the horse-leech.

"First, then, you are said to have been smuggling firearms into this
district. What are they wanted for?"

"T-t-to k-k-kill rats with."

"That is a terrible answer. Are all your fellow-men rats in your eyes if
they cannot think as you do?"

"S-s-some of them."

Montanelli leaned back in his chair and looked at him in silence for a
little while.

"What is that on your hand?" he asked suddenly.

The Gadfly glanced at his left hand. "Old m-m-marks from the teeth of
some of the rats."

"Excuse me; I was speaking of the other hand. That is a fresh hurt."

The slender, flexible right hand was badly cut and grazed. The Gadfly
held it up. The wrist was swollen, and across it ran a deep and long
black bruise.

"It is a m-m-mere trifle, as you see," he said. "When I was arrested the
other day,--thanks to Your Eminence,"--he made another little bow,--"one
of the soldiers stamped on it."

Montanelli took the wrist and examined it closely. "How does it come
to be in such a state now, after three weeks?" he asked. "It is all
inflamed."

"Possibly the p-p-pressure of the iron has not done it much good."

The Cardinal looked up with a frown.

"Have they been putting irons on a fresh wound?"

"N-n-naturally, Your Eminence; that is what fresh wounds are for. Old
wounds are not much use. They will only ache; you c-c-can't make them
burn properly."

Montanelli looked at him again in the same close, scrutinizing way; then
rose and opened a drawer full of surgical applia