"A castle on the Italian lakes, you
know"; in fact, he would close up the _pension_ as soon as he had
the power, or change it to a palace. He knew that most of the castles
in the Tyrol and many of the palaces of Italy had become boarding-
houses, so why not reverse the process? He was sure that certain
furnishing houses in London could do it, probably on the hire system.
He knew a fashionable morning paper that was in the habit of publishing
personal items at so much a line, and he thought the following would
read well and be worth its cost:--

"Mr. Walter Standish, of St. John's Wood, and his wife, the Comtessa di
Lenza, are spending the summer in the lady's ancestral home, the
Palazzio di Lenza, on the lake of Como."

This bright vision pleased him for a moment, until he thought it would
be just his luck for some acquaintance to happen along who remembered
the Palazzio Lenza when it was the Pension Lenz--rates on application.
He wished a landslide would carry buildings, grounds, and everything
else away to some unrecognisable spot a few hundred feet down the
mountain.

Thus it was that young Standish floated along with his head in the
clouds, swinging his cane in the air, when suddenly he was brought
sharply down to earth again. A figure darted out from behind a tree, an
instinct rather than reason caused the artist to guard himself by
throwing up his left arm. He caught the knife thrust in the fleshy part
of it, and the pain was like the red-hot sting of a gigantic wasp. It
flashed through his brain then that the term cold steel was a misnomer.
The next moment his right hand had brought down the heavy knob of his
stout stick on the curly head of the Italian, and Pietro fell like a
log at his feet. Standish set his teeth, and as gently as possible drew
the stiletto from his arm, wiping its blade on the clothes of the
prostrate man. He thought it better to soil Pietro's suit than his own,
which was newer and cleaner; besides, he held, perhaps with justice,
that the Italian being the aggressor should bear any disadvantages
arising from the attack. Finally, feeling wet at the elbow, he put the
stiletto in his pocket and hurried off to the hotel.

[Illustration: WIPING ITS BLADE ON THE CLOTHES OF THE PROSTRATE MAN]

Tina fell back against the wall with a cry at the sight of the blood.
She would have fainted, but something told her that she would be well
advised to keep her senses about her at that moment.

"I can't