and then along the stone step. To Ercole it was
clear that some person within had opened the door noiselessly a little
way and had shut it again rather hurriedly, on hearing the dog and
seeing the cab. Whoever it was had wished to see if there were any one
outside, without being seen, or perhaps had meant to slip out without
being heard by any one in the house.

Kalmon, leaning back inside, had not heard the sound of the latch, and
paid no attention to Nino's growl. It was natural that such an animal
should growl and snarl for nothing, he thought, especially on a rainy
night, when the lamps of a cab throw strange patches of light on the
glistening pavement.

There was some reason why Ercole, who had heard, did not get down and
tell the Professor, who had noticed nothing. One reason, and a good
enough one, was that whoever it was that had opened the door so
cautiously, it certainly was not the man they were all hunting that
night. Yet since Ercole knew the little house, and probably knew who
lived there, and that it belonged to Marcello, it might have been
supposed that he would have told the latter, whose footsteps were heard
on the gravel a few moments afterwards. But though Marcello stood a
moment by the wheel close to Ercole, and spoke across him to the cabman,
Ercole said nothing. Nino had not growled at Marcello, even before the
latter had appeared, for Nino had a good memory, for a dog, and
doubtless remembered long days spent by the Roman shore, and copious
leavings thrown to him from luxurious luncheons. Before they had left
the villa he had sniffed at Marcello's clothes and hands in a manner
that was meant to be uncommonly friendly, though it might not have
seemed reassuring to a stranger; and Marcello had patted his huge head,
and called him by name.

The young man had given the cabman the address of the office of the
Chief of Police, and when he had got in and hooked up the leathern
apron, the cab rolled away over the stones through the dark streets,
towards the bridge of Saint Bartholomew.

Within the house Regina sat alone, as Marcello had found her, her chin
resting on the back of her closed hand, her elbow on her knee, her eyes
gazing at the bright little fire that blazed on the polished hearth. Her
hair was knotted for the night, low down on her neck, and the loose
dressing-gown of dove-coloured silk plush was unfastened at the neck,
where a little lace fell about her strong white throat.

She had