that he could recognise a face. Servants would
swear that it was he, or not he, just as their interest suggested. Most
of the people of his own class who knew him were out of town at the
present season; and besides, the upper classes were not, in the Chief's
opinion, a whit more intelligent or trustworthy than those that served
them. The world, said the Chief, was an exceedingly bad place. That this
was true, the Superintendent could not doubt, and he admitted the fact;
but he was not sure how the Chief was applying the statement of it in
his own reasoning. Perhaps he thought that some persons might have an
interest in recognising Marcello.

"In the meantime," said the Chief, rising to go away, "we will put him
in a private room, where we shall not be watched by everybody when we
come to see him. I have funds from Corbario to pay any possible expenses
in the case."

"Who is that man?" asked the Superintendent. "There has been a great
deal of talk about him in the papers since his stepson was lost. What
was he before he married the rich widow?"

The Chief of Police did not reply at once, but lit a cigarette
preparatory to going away, smoothed his hat on his arm, and flicked a
tiny speck of dust from the lapel of his well-made coat. Then he smiled
pleasantly and gave his answer.

"I suppose that before he married Consalvi's widow he was a gentleman of
small means, like many others. Why should you think that he was ever
anything else?"

To this direct question the Superintendent had no answer ready, nor, in
fact, had the man who asked it, though he had looked so very wise. Then
they glanced at each other and both laughed a little, and they parted.

Half an hour later, Marcello was carried to an airy room with green
blinds, and was made even more comfortable than he had been before. He
slept, and awoke, and ate and slept again. Twice during the afternoon
people were brought to see him. They were servants from the villa on the
Janiculum, but he looked at them dully and said that he could not
remember them.

"We do not think it is he," they said, when questioned. "Why does he
not know us, if it is he? We are old servants in the house. We carried
the young gentleman in our arms when he was small. But this youth does
not know us, nor our names. It is not he."

They were dismissed, and afterwards they met and talked up at the villa.

"The master has been sent for by telegraph," they said one to another.
"We shall do w