ice out of the other's mouth. "You are
dead, and I am Gorlias."

Then the strong teeth were set and the lips closed, and the gladiator's
unmatched arms wound themselves upon the other's strength, with grip and
clutch and strain not of earthly men.

Silent and terrible, they wrestled in fight, arm to arm, bone to bone,
breath to breath. Hour after hour they strove in the still room. The sun
went westering away, the shadows deepened. The night came stealing black
and lonely through the window. Foot to foot, breast to breast, in the
dark, they bowed themselves one upon the other, dumb in the agony of
their reeling strife.

Late in the night, in the cold room, Paul Griggs felt the carpet under
his hands as he lay upon his back.

His heart was broken.

CHAPTER XLIII.

LORD REDIN had barely glanced at the man in the blue jacket with silver
buttons, whom he had seen in the deep shadow of the little wine shop as
he strolled down the Via della Frezza. But Stefanone had seen him and
had gone to the door as he passed, watching him when he stood talking to
the one-eyed cobbler, and keeping his keen eyes on him as he passed
again on his homeward way. And all the way to the hotel in the Piazza di
Spagna Stefanone had followed him at a distance, watching the great
loose-jointed frame and the slightly stooping head, till the Scotchman
disappeared under the archway, past the porter, who stood aside, his
gold-laced cap in his hand, bowing low to the 'English lord.'

Stefanone waited a few moments and then accosted the porter civilly.

"Do you know if the proprietor wishes to buy some good wine of last
year, at a cheap rate?" he asked. "You understand. I am of the country.
I cannot go in and look for the proprietor. But you are doubtless the
director and you manage these things for him. That is why I ask you."

The porter smiled at the flattery, but said that he believed wine had
been bought for the whole year.

"The hotel is doubtless full of rich foreigners," observed Stefanone.
"It is indeed beautiful. I should prefer it to the Palazzo Borghese. Is
it not full?"

"Quite full," answered the porter, proud of the establishment.

"For instance," said Stefanone, "I saw a great signore going in, just
before I took the liberty of speaking with you. I am sure that he is a
great English signore. Not perhaps a mylord. But a great signore, having
much money."

"What makes you think that?" inquired the porter, with a superi