n did not choose to announce his coming to his friends. He
travelled furiously, as it was his fashion to travel when he went
abroad, and arrived at the little village, on the outskirts of which
stood the Villa Venturi, so late in the evening that he preferred to
take a bed at the inn, and sup there, rather than disturb his own people
until morning. He enjoyed the night at the inn. It was a place much
frequented by fishermen, who came to fill their bottles before going out
at night, or to talk over the events of the previous day's fishing.
There was a garden behind the house--a garden full of orange and I lemon
trees--from which sweet breaths of fragrance were wafted to the nostrils
of the guests as they sat within the little hostelry. Percival could
speak Italian well, and understood the _patois_ of the fishermen. He had
a wonderful gift for languages; and it pleased him to sit up half the
night, drinking the rough wine of the country, smoking innumerable
cigarettes, and laughing heartily at the stories of the fisher-folk,
until the simple-minded Italians were filled with admiration and
astonishment at this _Inglese_ who was so much more like one of
themselves than any of the _Inglesi_ that they had ever met.

Owing to these late hours and the amount of talking, perhaps, that he
had got through, Percival slept late next morning, and it was not until
eleven o'clock that he started, regardless of the heat, for the Villa
Venturi. He had not very far to go, and it was with a light heart that
he strode along holding a great, white umbrella above his head, glancing
keenly at the view of sea and land which made the glory of the place,
turning up his nose fastidiously at the smells of the village, and
wondering in his heart what induced his relations to stay so long out of
London. He rang the bell at the gateway with great decision, and told
the servant to inform Mr. Heron that "an English gentleman" wished to
speak to him. He was ushered into a little ante-room, requested to wait
there until Mr. Heron was found, and left alone.

But he was not content to wait very patiently. He was sure that he heard
voices in the next room. Being quite without the scruples which had made
Stretton, not long before, refuse to push open a door one single inch in
order to see what was not meant to meet his eyes, he calmly advanced to
an archway screened by long and heavy curtains, parted them with his
fingers, and looked in.

It was an innocent