ardly knew where to put his trust.

"Her Highness lives, as you know, a very suitable, secluded life,"
continued Origo.

"But might not others have had access to her at the Pilgrim Inn?"

"Nay, she was there but the one night,--the night of her arrival. I do
not think it likely. For if you remember, I myself went to her early the
next morning, and by a stroke of good luck I had already come upon the
little house in the garden which was offered to me by a friend of yours
for her Highness's service."

"On the evening of our arrival? A friend of mine offered you the house,"
said Wogan, puzzling over who that friend could be.

"Yes. Harry Whittington."

Wogan started to his feet. So, after all, Whittington was at the bottom
of the trouble. Wogan wondered whether he had done wisely not to publish
the fellow's treachery. But he could not,--no, he had to make his
account with the man alone. There were reasons.

"It was Harry Whittington who offered the house for her Highness's use?"
Wogan exclaimed.

"It was an offer most apt and kind."

"And made on the evening of our arrival?"

"Not an hour after you left me. But you are surprised?"

Wogan was reflecting that on the evening of his arrival, and indeed just
before Whittington made his offer to Origo, he had seen Whittington's
face by the torchlight in the square. That face lived very plainly in
Wogan's thoughts. It was certainly not for Clementina's service that
Whittington had offered the house. Wogan resumed his seat, saying
carelessly,--

"I was surprised, for I had a notion that Whittington lodged opposite
the Torre Garisenda, and not at the house."

"Nor did he. He hired it for a friend who has now left Bologna."

"Man or woman?" asked Wogan, remembering that visitor who had drawn back
into the alley one early morning of last autumn. The man might very
likely have been Whittington.

"I did not trouble to inquire," said the Cardinal. "But, Mr. Wogan, why
do you ask me these questions?"

"I have not come yet to the end of them," answered Wogan. "There is one
more."

"Ask it!" said his Eminence, crossing his legs.

"Will your Eminence oblige me with a history of the affection of Maria
Vittoria, Mlle. de Caprara, for the King?"

The Cardinal uncrossed his legs and bounced in his chair.

"Here is a question indeed!" he stuttered.

"And a history of the King's response to it," continued Wogan,
implacably, "with a particular account of why the King lin