--nymphs and cupids and
garlands of roses; most incongruous decorations for a jail--at last they
paused before a heavy oak door. Their guide tried two wrong keys, swore
softly as each failed to turn, and finally with an exclamation of triumph
produced the right one. He swung the door wide and stepped back with a
bow.

A large room was revealed, brick-floored and somewhat scanty as to
furniture, but with a view--an admirable view, if one did not mind its
being checked off into iron squares. The most conspicuous object in the
room, however, was its occupant, as he sat, in an essentially American
attitude, with his chair tipped back and his feet on the table. A cloud
of tobacco smoke and a wide spread copy of a New York paper concealed him
from too impertinent gaze. He did not raise his head at the sound of the
opening door but contented himself with growling:

"Confound your impudence! You might at least knock before you come in."

Constance laughed and advanced a hesitating step across the threshold.
Tony dropped his paper and sprang to his feet, his face assuming a shade
of pink only less vivid than the oleanders. She shook her head
sorrowfully.

"I don't need to tell you, Tony, how shocked we are to find you in such a
place. Our trust has been rudely shaken; we had not supposed we were
harboring a deserter."

Mr. Wilder stepped forward and held out his hand; there was a twinkle in
his eye which he struggled manfully to suppress.

"Nonsense, Tony, we don't believe a word of it. You a deserter from the
Italian army? It's preposterous! Where are your naturalization papers?"

"Thank you, Mr. Wilder, but I don't happen to have my papers with me--I
trust it won't be necessary to produce them. You see--" his glance rested
entirely on Mr. Wilder; he studiously overlooked Constance's
presence--"this Angelo Fresi, the fellow they are after, got into a
quarrel over a gambling debt and struck a superior officer. To avoid
being court-martialed he lit out; it happened a month ago in Milan and
they've been looking for him ever since. Now last night I had the
misfortune to tip Lieutenant Carlo di Ferara over into a ditch. The
matter was entirely accidental and I regretted it very much. I, of
course, apologized. But what did the lieutenant do but take it into his
head that I, being an assaulter of superior officers, was, by _a priori_
reasoning, this Angelo Fresi in disguise. Accordingly--" he waved his
hand around the room--"y