to pieces in the telling, and the tragic end of poor Faustina was no
ending for me.

"Oh," said he, "I had it from Corbucci at his own revolver's point. He
was waiting at his window, and I could have potted him at my ease where
he stood against the light listening hard enough but not seeing a
thing. So he asked whether it was Stefano, and I whispered, 'Si,
signore'; and then whether he had finished Arturo, and I brought the
same shot off again. He had let me in before he knew who was finished
and who was not."

"And did you finish him?"

"No; that was too good for Corbucci. But I bound and gagged him about
as tight as man was ever gagged or bound, and I left him in his room
with the shutters shut and the house locked up. The shutters of that
old place were six inches thick, and the walls nearly six feet; that
was on the Saturday night, and the Count wasn't expected at the
vineyard before the following Saturday. Meanwhile he was supposed to be
in Rome. But the dead would doubtless be discovered next day, and I am
afraid this would lead to his own discovery with the life still in him.
I believe he figured on that himself, for he sat threatening me gamely
till the last. You never saw such a sight as he was, with his head
split in two by a ruler tied at the back of it, and his great moustache
pushed up into his bulging eyes. But I locked him up in the dark
without a qualm, and I wished and still wish him every torment of the
damned."

"And then?"

"The night was still young, and within ten miles there was the best of
ports in a storm, and hundreds of holds for the humble stowaway to
choose from. But I didn't want to go further than Genoa, for by this
time my Italian would wash, so I chose the old Norddeutscher Lloyd, and
had an excellent voyage in one of the boats slung in-board over the
bridge. That's better than any hold, Bunny, and I did splendidly on
oranges brought from the vineyard."

"And at Genoa?"

"At Genoa I took to my wits once more, and have been living on nothing
else ever since. But there I had to begin all over again, and at the
very bottom of the ladder. I slept in the streets. I begged. I did
all manner of terrible things, rather hoping for a bad end, but never
coming to one. Then one day I saw a white-headed old chap looking at
me through a shop-window--a window I had designs upon--and when I
stared at him he stared at me--and we wore the same rags. So I had
come to that! Bu