“Now, wait,” I said. “You wonder how I can know this. The puzzle of Destiny makes a very simple map when it is put together, Geoletti. Some time ago I happened to come across part of a letter in a book. You were mentioned in it; Mr Dalston was mentioned in it, and one or two others. But leave them out. It was just the association of the two names, yours and his, then and now, that has made me jump to a conclusion. Wait while I show you.”
I went and fetched the letter, and held it out under his eyes.
“Can you read?”
“Si—yes, yes.”
“Read, then.”
Eagerly, gluttonously, triumphantly, his eyes travelled down the sheet, and rested on the name at its foot. He thrust out a rigid finger, and pointed to it.
“Carlo, si! Buono Dio! Challie Skene—yes.”
“What about Charles Skene?”
“Dalston murder him, signore.”