r Square, Pietro," he directed.
"Present my compliments to the lady of the house, and tell her that
an occurrence of the deepest importance deprives me of the honor of
dining to-night."

"Very good, your Excellency."

Sabatini turned to Arnold.

"Come," he said simply, "my automobile is waiting. Will you direct
the man?"

They started off citywards. Sabatini, for a time, sat like a man in
a dream, and Arnold, respecting his companion's mood, kept silent.
There seemed to be something unreal about their progress. To Arnold,
with this man by his side, the amazing story which he had gathered
from those ill-written pages, with their abrupt words and brutal
cynicism, still ringing in his brain, their errand seemed like some
phantasmal thing. The familiar streets bore a different aspect; the
faces of the people whom they passed struck him always with a
curious note of unreality. Ruth was Sabatini's daughter! His brain
refused to grasp so amazing a fact. Yet curiously enough, as he
leaned back among the cushions, the likeness was there. The turn of
the lips, the high forehead, the flawless delicacy of her oval face,
in the light of this new knowledge were all startlingly reminiscent
of the man who sat by his side now in a grim, unbroken silence. The
wonder of it all remained unabated, but his sense of apprehension
grew.

Presently Sabatini began to talk, rousing himself as though with an
effort, and asking questions concerning Ruth, about her accident,
her tastes. He heard of the days of her poverty with a little
shiver. Arnold touched lightly upon these, realizing how much his
companion was suffering. Their progress grew slower and slower as
they passed into the heart of this strange land, down the narrow yet
busy thoroughfare which seemed to be the main artery of the
neighborhood. Strange names were above the shop-windows, strange
articles were displayed behind them. Stalls were set out in the
streets. Men and women, driven by the sulphurous heat to seek air,
leaned half-dressed from the windows, or sat even upon the pavement
in front of their houses. More than once they were obliged to come
to a standstill owing to the throngs of loiterers. As they neared
the last corner, Arnold leaned out and his heart sank. In front he
could see the crowd kept back by a line of police.

"We are too late!" he exclaimed. "They have found him! They must be
making the arrest even now!"

CHAPTER XXXIV

CLOSE TO TRAGEDY

T