"I will not play the spy in my uncle's house—he has been a father to me—more than a father."
"But you play—in your uncle's house—how you play is known only to you and me—so far. It's not much I'm asking of you, but much or little you'll have to do it. They visit here a great deal, and your task will be easy—and I'll help you with Julie. Half-past one; I'll go now—you'll remember."
Gabriel Dasso descended the broad stairway of Señor Luazo's mansion, and was helped into his sable overcoat by the sleepy man-servant at the door. In the courtyard his motor was waiting, but instructing the chauffeur to keep him in sight Dasso turned up the collar of his coat and stepped out briskly.
It was a lovely night, and the Bay of Lucana gleamed silver beneath the moon. The boulevard that terraced above the beach lay white under the cold glare of the arc lamps which threw a delicate tracery of shadow from the acacia trees.
The town of Corbo was built on a cliff, or rather a series of little cliffs that rose in terraces, upon the highest of which stood the royal palace. Under the gay reign of Enrico I, Corbo had prospered exceedingly, and there was but little remaining of the old and quaint town of a decade ago. Modern hotels, rivalling the palace in splendour and far exceeding it in comfort, lined the lower boulevard, and the Casino lying back in its palm gardens had been erected by a syndicate of Russian Jews and had cost a fabulous amount of money.
The lights were still blazing from its myriad windows as Señor Dasso made his way along the broad pavement, followed at a respectful distance by his car. There was a slight wind off-shore and little bursts of melody came to him at intervals, of a popular waltz played by a string band.
For perhaps half-an-hour the man continued to walk up and down, his chin sunk deep in his collar, then he raised his hand and the watching chauffeur slid noiselessly up to him.
Leaving the lighted thoroughfare the car made its way to the eastern end of the town, which lay in darkness. It was here, in a part that still contained some of the buildings of the old town, that Dasso's home lay. It was a large mediæval-looking structure, more of a castle than a house. When first it had been erected it stood alone, but with the growth of the town it had been surrounded, and portions of its grounds taken in till now it had the appearance of a giant being elbowed and crowded out by pigmies.
Before the massive old gateway the car drew up, and at the sound of the brakes the oak doors opened. Señor Dasso passed in between the two footmen, one of whom relieved him of his coat and hat, whilst the other shot home the great bolts behind him.
"I'll want nothing more," he said shortly, and crossing the hall entered a room on the left. On the table stood a decanter and a syphon. He mixed himself a drink, then selecting a key from the bunch on his chain inserted it in the lock of a small but massive safe that was let into the wall by the fireplace. He took from it a portfolio of black leather, and, seating himself near the lights of a branch candelabra, unfastened the little strap.