"I know all."
"You know where he is now?"
"I do. I have brought you a letter from him—a sort of introduction," said Hugo, with a faint smile. "I trust that you will find it satisfactory."
"No introduction is necessary," was Dino's polite reply. "I have heard him speak of you."
Hugo's eyes flashed an interrogation. What had Brian said of him? But Dino's tones were so courteous, his face so calmly impassive, that Hugo was reassured. He bowed slightly, and placed a card and a letter on the table. Dino made an apology for opening the letter, and moved away from the table whilst he read it.
There was a pause. Hugo's face flushed, his hands twitched a little. He was actually nervous about the success of his scheme. Suppose Dino were to doubt the genuineness of that letter!
It consisted of a few words only, and they were Italian:—
"Dino mio," it began, "the bearer of this letter is my cousin Hugo, who knows all the circumstances and will explain to you what are my views. I am ill, and cannot come to London. Burn this note.
"Brian Luttrell."
Dino read it twice, and then handed it to Hugo, who perused it with as profound attention as though he had never seen the document before. When he gave it back, he was almost surprised to see Dino take it at once to the grate, deposit it amongst the coals, and wait until it was consumed to ashes before he spoke. There was a slight sternness of aspect, a compression of the lips, and a contraction of the brow, which impressed Hugo unfavourably during the performance of this action. It seemed to show that Dino Vasari might not be a man so easy to deal with as Brian Luttrell.