runkenness, which under present circumstances was the most dangerous
and might last all day with a man of his age and constitution, provided
that he did not drink too fast. And there was little fear of that, for
the Roman is cautious in his cups, and drinks slowly, never wishing to
lose his head, and indeed very much ashamed of ever being seen in a
helpless condition.

By this time he was well acquainted with Lord Redin's habits; and though
Griggs had been told that the Scotchman was out, Stefanone knew very
well that he was at home and would not leave the hotel for another hour
or more.

Leaning back against the wall and tipping the stool, he swung his
white-stockinged legs thoughtfully.

"One must eat," he remarked aloud, to himself.

He held his head a little on one side, thoughtfully considering the
question of food. Then he turned his face slowly towards the low door of
the shop and sniffed the air. Something was cooking in the back regions
within. Stefanone nodded to himself, rose, pulled out a blue and red
cotton handkerchief, and proceeded to dust his well-blacked low shoes
and steel buckles with considerable care, setting first one foot and
then the other upon the stool.

"Let us eat," he said aloud, folding his handkerchief again and
returning it to his pocket.

He went in and sat down at one of the trestle tables,--a heavy board,
black with age. The host was nodding on a chair in the corner, a fat man
in a clean white apron, with a round red face and fat red prominences
over his eyes, with thin eyebrows that were scarcely perceptible.

Stefanone rapped on the board with his knuckles; the host awoke, looked
at him with a pleased smile, made an interrogatory gesture, and having
received an affirmative nod for an answer retired into the dark kitchen.
In a moment he returned with a huge earthenware plate of soup in which a
couple of large pieces of fat meat bobbed lazily as he set the dish on
the table. Then he brought bread, a measure of wine, an iron spoon, and
a two-pronged fork.

Stefanone eat the soup without a word, breaking great pieces of bread
into it. Then he pulled out his clasp-knife and opened it; the long
blade, keen as a razor and slightly curved, but dark and dull in colour,
snapped to its place, as the ring at the back fell into the
corresponding sharp notch. With affected delicacy, Stefanone held it
between his thumb and one finger and drew the edge across the fat boiled
meat, which fe