“My dear fellow, did you observe that bowl of majolica? Or that superb cloisonné Kioto vase? With carved ivories galore and a plaque of della Robbia to choose from, and to pick out a silly timepiece.”
“Ah, yes,” I remarked dryly, “you had an eye on that clock yourself, hadn’t you?”
“Tut, tut, I have an eye on everything that is useless and odd. By the way, she asked you to keep it for her. I should like to have a look at it. Trot it out, my boy.”
I gazed into St. Hilary’s innocent blue eyes, and laughed quietly. “The other day, in Rome,” I said slowly, “I met on the street a certain Captain Villari. He’s as poor as the proverbial mouse, and an acquaintance. He asked me to go to the opera with him, I did not refuse, though the invitation, coming from him, surprised me. And the inevitable happened, of course. At the very box-office, he discovered with cries of consternation that he had left all his money in his other uniform. Might he dare, would I think it too presuming, if he asked me for the loan of ten lire until to-morrow?
“I assured him with all the warmth in the world that it would be a privilege, I put my hand in my pocket to oblige him. Accidenti! Was there ever such devilish luck! I had left my money in my morning clothes!
“We looked at each other half a minute; then we embraced with laughter. It was such an odd coincidence. And so we went our separate ways, quite good-naturedly. He knew I was lying. I knew he had been lying. What do you think of my story?”
“What has that story to do with an old timepiece?” he blustered.
I leaned forward and tapped him on the knee.
“Only this, my crafty dealer in antiquities. You, as well as my captain, are too crafty by half. You know the timepiece is not in these rooms, just as well as I do myself.”
“I don’t understand you,” he fumed.