“Ah, it is my friend Hume,” he purred. “I had thought that Mr. Hume had left Venice.”

I ignored the left hand he extended negligently toward me. He had as many changes of front as a Russian diplomatist. Then I laughed. His cool effrontery was downright amusing.

“And why should I have left Venice?” I asked easily. “Did you think you had frightened me off last night?”

“Ah, ha,” he twirled his mustache with the utmost good-nature, “I know my friend Hume too well to think that he is so easily frightened. But it is a pity that your wit, my friend, is not as great as your courage.”

“And how is my stupidity manifesting itself just at present?”

He threw back his head and laughed silently–at least, insofar as a cat can laugh. Then he lowered himself into a chair by my side, leaned forward, and tapped me lightly on the shoulder.

“I am clairvoyant. Par example, you are waiting for a friend, n’est ce pas? Oh, I do not 280mean myself. Shall we call that friend Mr. St. Hilary?”

“And then––”

“And then,” he continued jocularly, “if this Mr. St. Hilary should not come–if he had not a notion of coming?”

“I should be a fool to sit here–is that the inference?”

His shoulders shook, as if he found the joke amusing. But how should he know anything of St. Hilary’s movements? Or, guessing them, that I could be seriously affected by them?

“Am I to understand,” I demanded, sitting upright, “that you have information as to Mr. St. Hilary’s whereabouts?”

“Very precise information, I assure you, my friend,” he cried, his blue eyes dancing. “When one sees a gondola racing to the railway station, with two rowers, so great is the hurry, one may reasonably infer that the gentleman who sits under the felsa smoking a cigarette is on his way to take a train, hein?”

“So you saw Mr. St. Hilary on his way to the railway station?” I said slowly. “And the time?”

“It was not so late as seven, and certainly not before half-past six.”

My worst fears were realized. Pietro had let 281him slip through his fingers at the eight-thirty train. But at least I would not give this Italian the satisfaction of seeing the consternation the news gave me, and I answered indifferently:

“A little trip to Milan, I suppose. If he had been going far I should certainly have seen him before his departure.”

“But, Mr. Hume,” cried the duke in triumph, “when the gondola is piled high with boxes, is it reasonable to think that our friend simply runs off to Milan? No, no; Naples, perhaps, or Paris, or London.”

“What! You saw his trunks?” I cried.

The duke held up his five fingers.

“So many.”

I turned easily in my seat and looked him over coolly. I had every reason to believe that St. Hilary possessed only two trunks, and that these two trunks were in his room up-stairs.

“Yes, it is strange that he should not have said good-by to me,” I said musingly.

“Is it so strange?” queried the duke, and again he tapped me on the shoulder. “Come, come, Mr. Hume, have I not said that I am clairvoyant?”

“Your proofs have not been convincing. Suppose that you give me a better illustration of this remarkable gift of yours.”

282“Well, then, I could have told you yesterday that your friend would bear watching.”

“You seem to know a good deal about the character of Mr. St. Hilary,” I said, and rose from my seat with a yawn.

The duke rose and took my arm. He had not yet done with me, it appeared.

“You walk toward the Piazza? Permit me to walk with you. Yes, yes, I know a good deal of your friend’s character. We have had many interesting talks together before now; and, let me tell you, Mr. St. Hilary did me the honor of bidding me good-by.”

“And is that the reason you are so happy?” I asked, staring at him. My question had been put seriously. For the first time this afternoon I was interested in his answer.

“So happy?” he retorted, shrugging his shoulders; then, with apparent frankness, “But I am to see Mr. St. Hilary again. Yes; I am to join him presently at Naples, perhaps, or Paris, or London. By the way, you have yet three days in which to prove me a liar,” he added good-humoredly.

“And three days are a long time sometimes,” I said curtly. “Good afternoon; I take a gondola here to my rooms.”

“Adieu,” he purred, but he still held my arm. 283“Do you remember that charming afternoon we spent, all four of us, in my poor palazzo? I presented to each of the ladies a little souvenir. To Mrs. Gordon I gave the useless old clock; to Miss Quintard, the chest that once contained the casket I have found and given to her. But to you I gave nothing. Our dealer, I have reason to think, has consoled himself. To you alone, my friend, I have been remiss.”

“Your regret is touching,” I murmured.

“But there is a little book I came across the other day when I was packing up my few belongings. It is only fourteen pages, but these fourteen pages are interesting. I have known travelers go all the way to St. Petersburg to consult them. Would it amuse you–this little souvenir? Or am I to infer that since the departure of your co-laborer in antiquarian studies you are no longer interested in curiosities?”

If I could have flung him into the muddy waters of the canal I should have been a little less miserable, but I affected the utmost delight. In the ............