“I thought myself he seemed fairly decent,” the Gadfly lazily assented.
“Nonsense, Sandro! We don't want Cardinals here!” said Domenichino. “And if Monsignor Montanelli had taken that post in Rome when he had the chance of getting it, Rivarez couldn't have fooled him.”
“He wouldn't take it because he didn't want to leave his work here.”
“More likely because he didn't want to get poisoned off by Lambruschini's agents. They've got something against him, you may depend upon it. When a Cardinal, especially such a popular one, 'prefers to stay' in a God-forsaken little hole like this, we all know what that means—don't we, Rivarez?”
The Gadfly was making smoke-rings. “Perhaps it is a c-c-case of a 'b-b-broken and contrite heart,'” he remarked, leaning his head back to watch them float away. “And now, men, let us get to business.”
They began to discuss in detail the various plans which had been formed for the smuggling and concealment of weapons. The Gadfly listened with keen attention, interrupting every now and then to correct sharply some inaccurate statement or imprudent proposal. When everyone had finished speaking, he made a few practical suggestions, most of which were adopted without discussion. The meeting then broke up. It had been resolved that, at least until he was safely back in Tuscany, very late meetings, which might attract the notice of the police, should be avoided. By a little after ten o'clock all had dispersed except the doctor, the Gadfly, and Domenichino, who remained as a sub-committee for the discussion of special points. After a long and hot dispute, Domenichino looked up at the clock.
“Half-past eleven; we mustn't stop any longer or the night-watchman may see us.”
“When does he pass?” asked the Gadfly.
“About twelve o'clock; and I want to be home before he comes. Good-night, Giordani. Rivarez, shall we walk together?”
“No; I think we are safer apart. Then I shall see you again?”