irs are nothing to you now."

I had thought that he would be back in time for coffee, but he did
not appear, and the curiosity of Gaeta, who had been restless since
the Boy's departure, could no longer be kept within bounds. "Do go and
see if he has got that wonderful bag," she said. "He might come to
tell us!"

I obeyed, nothing loth, but only to learn from the concierge that the
young gentleman had gone away with the man who had called.

"Did he leave no message?" I asked.

"No, Monsieur. He talked with the man here in the hall for a few
minutes; then he ran upstairs and soon came down again with a cap and
coat. Immediately after, he and the man went out together."

"What sort of man was he?"

"An Italian, Monsieur; a very rough-looking peasant-fellow of middle
age, poorly dressed in his working clothes. I have never seen him
before."

I did not like this description, nor the news the concierge had given.
It was nine o'clock, and very dark, for it had begun to rain towards
evening, and a monotonous drip, drip mingled with the plash of the
fountain in the garden. Grim fancies came knocking at the door of my
brain. It was a mad thing for a boy, little more than a child, to go
out alone in the night with a stranger, a "rough-looking
peasant-fellow," who pretended to know something of the vanished bag;
to go out, leaving no word of his intentions, nor the direction he
would take. As like as not, the man was a villain who scented rich
prey in a tourist offering a reward of five thousand francs for a lost
piece of luggage.

As I thought of the brave, innocent little comrade walking
unsuspectingly into some trap from which I could have saved him had I
been by his side, a sensation of physical sickness came over me.

"How long is it since they went out?" I asked quickly.

"Ten minutes, at most, Monsieur."

I could have shaken the concierge's hand for this good news, for there
was hope of catching them up. I was in dinner jacket and pumps, but I
did not wait to make a dash upstairs for hat or coat. I borrowed the
blue, gold-handed cap of the concierge, not caring two pence for my
comical appearance, which would have sent Gaeta into peals of silver
laughter, and out into the rain I went, turning up the collar of my
jacket.

I had forgotten the Contessa, and my promise to return immediately
with tidings from the front. All I thought of was, which direction
should I take to find the Boy. Ought I to turn towards th