“The vetturino will never take me as bail for such an amount,” I said to Medini, “and even if he would I should never be so foolish as to contract such a debt.”
“Let me have a word with you in the next room,” said he; “I will put the matter clearly before you.”
“Certainly.”
Two of the police would have prevented his going into the next room, on the plea that he might escape through the window, but I said I would be answerable for him.
Just then the poor vetturino came in and kissed my hand, saying that if I would go bail for the count he would let me have three months wherein to find the money.
As it happened it was the same man who had taken me to Rome with the Englishwoman who had been seduced by the actor l’Etoile. I told him to wait a moment.
Medini who was a great talker and a dreadful liar thought to persuade me by shewing me a number of open letters, commending him in pompous terms to the best houses in Florence. I read the letters, but I found no mention of money in them, and I told him as much.
“I know,” said he, “but there is play going on in these houses, and I am sure of gaining immense sums.”
“You may be aware that I have no confidence in your good luck.”
“Then I have another resource.”