I was able to guess what had happened. The four were looking for a more docile tool.
I sent off a third wire:
‘I have lost touch with the conspiracy. From this moment I no longer answer for your life.’
This warning was not even shown to the doomed King.
I now adopted a course which I had put off as long as possible, on account of the risk involved. I secretly engaged a second lodging at a distance, where I could disguise myself as I pleased, and began to shadow the Anarchist leaders.
It was a dangerous game to play, because such men were accustomed to find themselves the subject of police surveillance, and would probably be quick to detect anything of the sort. My only chance of success lay in the fact that I already possessed so much knowledge of their movements as to make the task of watching them a comparatively easy one.
I had come to the conclusion that the real head of the group was the crippled Swiss. This man kept a small shop, chiefly for repairs, in the heart of the Italian quarter. I made up as a Corsican, to account for any imperfections of accent, and hung about the neighbourhood, begging.
Ferretti, Peters, and The Bear were frequent visitors, and the simpleton Bresci called once or twice, but for some days I saw nothing that I could fix upon as having a suspicious look. I remembered, however, that the lame watchmaker had always been missing from the gatherings at the club on Saturday nights, and I looked forward to making some discovery when the end of the week arrived.
I was not disappointed, though I had to wait so long that I almost gave up hope. Just as the clock struck ten a tall, swarthy figure brushed right by me, and slipped into the little shop. The moment after, the lame man came out into the street, and began putting up the shutters.
It was necessary to act promptly. I stepped up to the Swiss and whispered my assumed name in his ear.