ied indignantly. "You have a wonderful voice, and,
when I applauded you, I was sincere. By the way, may I change my mind
and ask for the key to the door in the cellar?"

"Do you want it, really want it, my friend?"

"I am sure I do. I may never use it, but it will please me to have it.
Little things in life make me happy, and this key is a little thing."

"Then you shall have it. Will you do me a favor? Wait till Sunday to use
it. Today is Friday, and you will not have to wait many hours."

"It will be a pleasure to do as you desire," I replied, kissing her
hand. "And shall I hear you sing again? May I come often to hear you
sing?"

"I promise you that," she sighed. "I am sure that you will hear me sing
often in the future. I feel that in some way our fates approach the same
star."

I looked into her eyes, her yellow cat-eyes, and I was sure that she
spoke the truth. Destiny had certainly brought me to find her in Sorona.

* * * * *

I bought two dozen rat-tailed files, and dashed across the mountains to
Milan. There I was closeted with the consuls of three nations: England,
France and my own. They did not want to believe my story. I gave them
names, and they had to admit that there had been inquiries, but they
felt that the main details were nightmares, resulting from an over-use
of Italian wines. But I insisted that I was not drunk with new wine. At
last, they called in the chief of the detective bureau. He knew Franco,
the real-estate agent; also the lady in question. And he had heard
something of the villa; not much, but vague whisperings.

"We will be there Saturday night," he promised. "That leaves you
tonight. The lady will not try to trap you till Sunday. Can you attend
to the old people?"

"They will be harmless. See that Franco does not have a chance to
escape. Here is the extra key to the door. I will go through before
twelve. When I am ready, I will open the door. If I am not out by one in
the morning, you come through with your police. Do we all understand?"

"I understand," said the American consul. "But I still think you are
dreaming."

Back at the villa, I again drugged the old people, not much, but enough
to insure their sleep that night. They liked me. I was liberal with my
gold, and I carelessly showed them where I kept my reserve.

Then I went through the door. Again I heard the Donna Marchesi sing to
an audience that would never hiss her. She left, and I