"There is some animal following us," the cabman said to Ercole as they turned a corner.
"It is my dog," Ercole answered.
"It sounds like a calf," said the cabman, turning his head to listen through the storm.
"It is not a calf," answered Ercole gruffly. "It is my dog. Or if you wish it to be the were-wolf, it will be the were-wolf."
The cabman glanced uneasily at his companion on the box, for the were-wolf is a thing of terror to Romans. But he could not see the countryman's features in the gloom, and he hastened his horse's pace down the hill, for he did not like the sound of those galloping feet behind his cab, in that lonely road, in the dark and the rain.
"Where am I to go?" he asked, as he came near the place where a turn to the right leads out of the Via Garibaldi down to the Via Luciano Manara.
But Kalmon knew where they were, even better than Marcello, to whom the road was familiar by day and night, in all weathers.
"We must leave that message first," said the Professor to Marcello. "We are coming to the turning."
"To Santa Cecilia," Marcello called out to the cabman, thrusting his head forward into the rain, "then I will tell you where to go."
"Santa Cecilia," echoed the cabman.