“Ah, póvero me!” screamed Paganini. “Why did I forget the bag! Eccomi perdûto! I am lost—I am lost!”
With a gasp Baronte stepped back, undiscovered of the other. The next moment he was racing down the hill towards Florence.
At the door of the hotel, wild and drenched, he ran upon young Varano, and, clutching him by the shoulders, glared into his eyes.
“Quick!” he panted. “He is up there on the hill—I have seen him—and without his fetish. Quick! Our opportunity has arrived.”
Varano nodded pallidly.
“I know,” he whispered. “I was coming to look for you.”
Together they stole up to the Maestro’s chamber; opened the unlatched door like thieves; entered, and discovered the forgotten bag lying upon a chair. Dreading he knew not what terrific revelation, Baronte pressed the snap and disclosed——
Down in the vestibule a moment later they ran upon the landlord.
“Benedetto, mi’ amico,” said Varano smoothly, “can you tell us what is ‘Leroy’?”
“Of a verity, Signore,” answered the man. “‘Leroy’ is a quack remedy, a sedative, and very good for relieving pain. You should ask the great Maestro Paganini, whom it is my distinction to lodge, and who applies it to a bowel complaint from which he has long suffered terribly. He is never without a bottle or two of it in his little black bag.”