It was Professor Kalmon.
Corbario started at the sound of his voice. They had not met since
Kalmon had been at the cottage.

"I wish I had known that you were in the train," the Professor said.

"So do I," answered Corbario without enthusiasm. "Not that I am very
good company," he added, looking sideways at the other's face and
meeting a scrutinising glance.

"You look ill," Kalmon replied. "I don't wonder."

"I sometimes wish I had one of those tablets of yours that send people
to sleep for ever," said Corbario, making a great effort to speak
steadily.

But his voice shook, and a sudden terror seized him, the abject fright
that takes hold of a man who has been accustomed to do something very
dangerous and who suddenly finds that his nerve is gone at the very
moment of doing it again.

The cold sweat stood on Folco's forehead under his hat; he stopped where
he was and tried to draw a long breath, but something choked him.
Kalmon's voice seemed to reach him from a great distance. Then he felt
the Professor's strong arm under his own, supporting him and making him
move forward.

"The weather is hot," Kalmon said, "and you are ill and tired. Come
outside."

"It is nothing," Corbario tried to say. "I was dizzy for a moment."

Kalmon and the footman helped him into his low carriage, and raised the
hood, for the afternoon sun was still very hot.

"Shall I go home with you?" Kalmon asked.

"No, no!" cried Corbario nervously. "You are very kind. I am quite well
now. Good-bye. Home!" he added to the footman, as he settled himself
back under the hood, quite out of sight.

The Professor stood still in the glaring heat, looking after the
carriage, his travelling-bag in his hand, while the crowd poured out of
the station, making for the cabs and omnibuses that were drawn up in
rows, or crossing the burning pavement on foot to take the tram.

When the carriage was out of sight, Kalmon looked up at the hot sky and
down at the flagstones, and then made up his mind what to do.

"To the hospital of San Giovanni," he said, as he got into a cab.

He seemed to be well informed, for he inquired at the door about a
certain Marcello Botti, who was in a private room; and when he gave his
name he was admitted without even asking permission of the
Superintendent, and was at once led upstairs.

"Are you a friend of his, sir?" asked Regina, when he had looked a long
time at the patient, who did not recognise him in the least.