"So it must be the other way, my lady; Gaspar Mozara does not ask twice." He said this between set teeth, and hailing a passing fiacre, gave the direction of Señor Dasso's house in the old town.
*****
Dasso was sitting reading in the oak-panelled library. It was a dignified apartment, low ceilinged and sombre in colouring. The firelight played richly on the dark red hangings and on the pewter which stood on the low bookcases. In shadowy corners stood suits of armour, with here and there a choice bronze statue.
The ex-Dictator put aside the book and rose as the lieutenant was announced, and held out his hand with a show of greeting.
"I have been expecting you," he said.
Gaspar Mozara drew a chair up to face his host, and threw himself into it with an oath. Dasso looked his inquiries.
"Expecting me, have you? It was useless my worrying you, señor, until I had news."
Señor Dasso rose and put his hand on the young man's shoulder.
"Now look here, Gaspar, there's no need for you to be surly. There are times ahead in San Pietro, and you should be honoured to think that I have chosen you to work with me. Oh, I know you are thinking of those cards—they are just my safeguard, nothing more, against treachery. A hand such as I am playing does not allow of throwing away a single trick, of missing a single chance. Work with me, Gaspar, and forget that you ever played poker."
A manservant entered and placed refreshment on the table and noiselessly withdrew.