blank.

"Doubtless," said the banker, "you have been taught by your priests to
believe that the great church of St. Peter, in Rome, is the actual
centre of the universe. Is it not so?"

They assented, not without wonder, since the fact was well known.

"Recent geographers," said Asabri, "unwilling to take any statement for
granted, have, after prolonged and scientific investigation, discovered
that this idea is hocus pocus. The centre of the universe is in the
United States, in the city of New York, in Wall Street. The number in
the street, to be precise, is fifty-nine. From fifty-nine Wall Street,
the word goes out to the extremities of the world: 'Let prices be low.'
Or: 'Let them be high.' And so they become, according to the word. But
unless I can find five thousand lire with which to take advantage of
this fact, why to-morrow----"

"To-morrow?" asked the brigand who had been first to smile.

"Two months ago," said Asabri, "I was perhaps the most envied man in
Italy. To-morrow I shall be laughed at." He shrugged his powerful
shoulders.

"But if five thousand lire could be found?"

It was the sullen brigand who spoke, and his companions eyed him with
some misgiving.

"In that case," said Asabri, "I should rehabilitate my fortune and that
of the man, or men, who came to my assistance."

"Suppose," said the sullen one, "that I were in a position to offer you
the loan of five thousand lire, or four thousand eight hundred and
ninety-two, to be exact, what surety should I receive that my fortunes
and those of my associates would be mended thereby?"

"My word," said Asabri simply, and he turned his face of a Roman emperor
and looked the sullen brigand directly in the eye.

"Words," said this one, although his eyes fell before the steadiness of
the banker's, "are of all kinds and conditions, according to whoso gives
them."

Asabri smiled, and sure of his notoriety: "I am Asabri," said he.

They examined him anew with a great awe. The youngest said:

"And _you_ have fallen upon evil days! I should have been less
astonished if some one were to tell me that the late pope had received
employment in hell."

"Beppo," said the sullen brigand, "whatever the state of his fortunes,
the word of Asabri is sufficient. Go into the tomb of Attulius and fetch
out the money."

The money--silver, copper, and notes of small denominations--was in a
dirty leather bag.

"Will you count it, sir?"

With the palms of his han