hich
he generally ate in a small _osteria_ opposite his master's lodging.
There he sat now, finishing his dish of beans and oil, and debating
whether he should indulge himself in another _mezza foglietta_ of his
favourite white wine. He was installed upon the wooden bench against the
wall, behind the narrow table on which was spread a dirty napkin with the
remains of his unctuous meal. The light from the solitary oil-lamp that
hung from the black ceiling was not brilliant, and he could see well
enough through the panes of the glass door that the carriage which had
just stopped on the opposite side of the street was not a cab. Suspecting
that some one had called at that unusual hour in search of his master, he
rose from his seat and went out.

He stood looking at the carriage. It did not please him. It had that
peculiar look which used to mark the equipages of the Vatican, and which
to this day distinguishes them from all others in the eyes of a born
Roman. The vehicle was of rather antiquated shape, the horses were black,
the coachman wore a plain black coat, with a somewhat old-fashioned hat;
withal, the turnout was respectable enough, and well kept. But it did not
please Temistocle. Drawing his hat over his eyes, he passed behind it,
and having ascertained that the occupants, if there had been any, had
already entered the house, he himself went in. The narrow staircase was
dimly lighted by small oil-lamps. Temistocle ascended the steps on
tiptoe, for he could already hear the men ringing the bell, and talking
together in a low voice. The Neapolitan crept nearer. Again and again
the bell was rung, and the men began to grow impatient.

"He has escaped," said one angrily.

"Perhaps--or he has gone out to dinner--much more likely."

"We had better go away and come later," suggested the first.

"He is sure to come home. We had better wait. The orders are to take him
in his lodgings."

"We might go into the _osteria_ opposite and drink a _foglietta_."

"No," said the other, who seemed to be the one in authority. "We must
wait here, if we wait till midnight. Those are the orders."

The second detective grumbled something not clearly audible, and silence
ensued. But Temistocle had heard quite enough. He was a quick-witted
fellow, as has been seen, much more anxious for his own interests than
for his master's, though he had hitherto found it easy to consult both.
Indeed, in a certain way he was faithful to Del Ferice,