* *

The doctor Vincenzo had brought in rose from his knees and stood
thoughtfully wiping his hands on a piece of lint.

"We must see about extracting the bullets later on. One went clean
through his arm and so has saved us the trouble. As to her--I am not
sure--but I think the injury may not be so serious as it now appears.
She was evidently stunned. She must have struck her head against the
table in falling."

"Can they be moved?" the servant asked anxiously. "My master would not
care to stay on here. Can you take them into your house, and--and not
say anything?"

The doctor hesitated. He was a bald, grey-whiskered man, fat and
flaccid. His cuffs were frayed and there were wine-stains on his
shabby clothes. He was very poor.

"I should inform the authorities," he said.

"Oh, I don't think that is necessary. It would be worth your while
not to."

Jean's fur coat had been thrown across a chair. The doctor eyed it
carefully. It was worth more lire than he had ever possessed at one
time.

"Very well," he said. "The vineyard across the lane is mine. We can go
to my house that way and take them through the gate without ever
coming out on to the road. I will go and tell my housekeeper to get
the rooms ready."

Vincenzo's face brightened. "I will go in the car to-night to fetch
the master's brother. He is very rich. It will be worth your while,"
he repeated.

"He will be heavy to carry. Shall we be able to do it alone?"

"_Via!_" cried the little man. "I am very strong. Go now and come back
soon."

When the other had left the room he crouched down again on the floor
at Jean's feet. "Signorino! Signorino! Speak to me! Look at me!"

But there was no voice now, nor any that answered.

* * * * *

For a long while, it seemed, Jean was a spent swimmer, struggling to
reach a distant shore. The cruel cross-currents drew him, great waves
buffeted him, and the worst of it was they were hot. All the sea was
bubbling and boiling about him, and the sound in his ears was like
the roar of steam. There were creatures in the water, too; octopi,
such as he had seen caught in nets by the Venetian fishermen and flung
on the yellow sands of the Lido. He saw their tentacles flickering in
the green curled edges of each wave that threatened to beat him down
into the depths.

Vincenzo kept them off. He was always there, sitting by the door, and
when he was called he came running to his