"At this hour I open to no one I do not see."
A short dialogue ensued in the street. The voice he had heard first said: "You speak to him," and the voice that spoke next was very familiar to Franco.
"Open, Signor Maironi."
It was the Receiver. Franco threw the door open. A gentleman, dressed in black and wearing spectacles, entered, and was followed by the mastiff; after the mastiff came a gendarme with a lantern, then three other armed gendarmes, two of whom were subalterns while the other was of higher rank, and carried a large leathern bag. Some one remained outside.
"Are you Signor Maironi?" said the man in spectacles, a police-adjunct, or detective from Milan. "Come upstairs with me." And the whole party started upstairs, with the thud of heavy steps and the rattling of military trappings.
They had not yet reached the first floor when a light fell on the stairs from above, and sobs and groans were heard on the second floor.
"Is that your wife?" asked the detective.
"Do you fancy it is?" Franco retorted ironically. The Receiver murmured: "It is probably the servant." The detective turned and gave an order; two gendarmes started forward and went rapidly up to the second floor. More sharply than before the adjunct asked Franco: "Is your wife in bed?"
"Where? She must get up."