'Traitors? 'tis a word you are fond of using, you Italians. I look at things differently. Why should we expect a new experience in life from that of other men? A man lives with his enemies; if he is lucky, he may meet with his friends.' He looked at Valdez as he spoke: he was always looking at Valdez, who bore his scrutiny with the most unaffected unconcern. 'As for suspecting, I suspect,—every one,' he said. 'It is my business to suspect. And for convenience sake I begin with the suspicion of our worthy landlord.' And, with a quick side-glance, he added lightly, 'Valdez, you see, our friend Valdez does not answer for him.'
'Nay,' said Valdez slowly, 'I say nothing for or against him. He is one of those men in whom necessity is the mother of virtue. He'll walk straight enough if you watch him carefully. He won't run off the line so long as there are no corners.'
At this the German made some inarticulate sound of assent, and for a time again relapsed into silence. Finally, as some neighbouring clock struck the hour of eleven, he looked up with another grunt. 'This place closes in half an hour. The young man is not coming,' he said.
'He will come,' Valdez repeated calmly.
'Per Bacco! if he doesn't——'
But even as Pierantoni opened his lips to speak the gaily-painted door behind him opened quickly and softly, and was as softly shut.
'Am I late?' asked Dino, looking all about him.
There was more curiosity than excitement in the expression of his face.
'I thought you told me it was to be an especially important sort of meeting? Why, where are the others? There's no one here!' he said, in a hurried aside to Valdez as he drew up a chair and took his place at the table beside his friend. Pierantoni's face he knew by sight already, but he gazed at the stranger present with considerable interest and wonder, noting each personal peculiarity of his appearance, his careless dress, his broad shoulders and large very white hands; he wore a large and valuable ring upon one of them, and there was an ugly scar, the red mark of an old wound, across his wrist. Dino could not keep his eyes from it. He had always longed to see this man. The German leaned back quietly in his chair.
'Your name is Bernardino de Rossi. You are Livornese by birth,—twenty-four years old. You have belonged to this Society for nearly three years, having been introduced and vouched for by Signor Pietro Valdez, here present. And for the last four years—for the last five years, if I mistake not,' he hesitated for an instant and appeared to consult his memory, 'you have held a position in the Telegraph Office of Leghorn. I believe I am right in all these particulars?'