More than ever, he had made up his mind to receive this man into his service. He longed to ask him, then and there, bluntly, what the mysterious tie might be that caused him to take so much interest in the signora, and why he had a note written by her in his possession—a note which he evidently feared any one else might see.
He was unable to study the man’s face; for as he read the recommendatory letter, he was conscious that the fellow’s keen eyes were fixed upon him with a furtive anxiety.
“When can you come to me?” he asked.
A glitter as of tears of delight gleamed in those bright, half-hungry eyes, as Gilardoni eagerly answered:
“Any time. To-night, if you will, sir.”
“Very well. So be it.”
The little details of terms and so on were soon settled. Captain Desfrayne unlocked the door leading to the inner apartments, and in a very few minutes Gilardoni was occupied in noiselessly flitting about, putting things straight with an almost womanly softness and dexterity. Captain Desfrayne threw himself upon a sofa, lighted a cigar, and, leaning back, watched him with a curiosity that was attaining an uncomfortable height.
“I would give a thousand pounds, if I were so rich, to know what link there is between this poor wretch and the star singer,” he thought. “But I am sure to know in time, I imagine, and I must not startle him.
“Give me some of those papers that are lying on the table in the next room,” he said, aloud.
Gilardoni obeyed his orders with nimble alacrity, and lighted a reading-lamp that stood on a table at the head of the couch.