It contained a varied assortment of papers, and Dasso ran through them hurriedly until he came to a card bearing a photograph. This he held close to the light and scanned narrowly.
He saw an old silver print of a young and beautiful woman in royal robes. Tall, and of a commanding carriage that savoured somewhat of arrogance, the late Queen of San Pietro looked out from the faded picture. For some minutes Señor Dasso gazed at the eyes, looking away now and again as though conjuring up some picture to his mind. Then he spoke murmuringly to himself, his eyes fixed on the portrait he held in his hand.
"I who knew you better than the others—I who saw you last of all—can perhaps see more than the others now. Yes, Queen Elene, your eyes have looked at me again to-night—in the flesh"—he laughed shortly—"but I did not flinch, Elene; the nerves of Gabriel Dasso are as firm to-day as they were fifteen years ago."
For a little while longer he looked, a half smile curling his cruel mouth, then he replaced the photograph in the portfolio, putting with it the three poker hands of Lieutenant Mozara, and again locked it in the safe.
Then taking the candelabra, he ascended the wide oak staircase to his chamber.
CHAPTER XI
THE LIEUTENANT HONOURS GALVA
The residence which Edward Povey Sydney had chosen for his party occupied a central position overlooking the blue waters of the Mediterranean, and embracing a fine view of the Bay of Lucana from the verdure-clad heights of the western arm to the tiny white lighthouse that stood sentinel on the spur of rock to the eastward.
The house itself was modern, having been built five years before Edward's arrival by a Cornhill financier, to whom the extradition laws of San Pietro offered as much inducement as the climate. But at the end of his first year's residence the call of the joys of London proved too strong for the poor man of finance, and the change from the luxury of Venta Villa to the hardships of a cell at Dartmoor had been as unpleasant as it had been swift.