"He is no relation, Signor Conte. He was an orphan, and I—"
"It is the same," he interrupted. "You are responsible for his doings."
I responsible! Good heavens, had I not done all in my power to prevent the rashness of that hot-headed boy?
"Will you not sit down, sir?" I said, moving a chair for him. He took the seat rather reluctantly.
"You do not seem much astonished at what I tell you," he remarked. "It is evident that you are in the plot."
"Unless you will inform me of what you know, Signor Conte," I replied with urbanity, "I cannot see how I can be of service to you."
"On the contrary," said he, "I am the person to ask questions. I wake up in the morning and find my daughter gone. I naturally inquire where she is."
"Most naturally, as you say, sir. I would do the same."
"And you, also very naturally, answer my questions," he continued severely.
"In that case, sir," I replied, "I would call to your attention the fact that you have asked but one question,—whether I were Signor Grandi. I answered that in the affirmative." You see I was apprehensive of what he might do, and desired to gain time. But he began to lose his temper.