"The Italian expedition?"
"Yes."
"That ought to make fine copy. You will not mind if I turn in? A bit sleepy."
"Not at all. Shall we tell the admiral?"
"The first thing in the morning. Good night."
Fitzgerald finished his cigar, and went to bed also. "Interesting old place," wadding a pillow under his ear. "More interesting to-morrow."
Some time earlier, the individual who was the cause of this nocturnal exploit hurried down the hill, nursing a pair of skinned palms, and laughing gently to himself.
"Checkmate! I shall try the other way."
On the morrow, Fitzgerald recounted the adventure in a semi-humorous fashion, making a brisk melodrama out of it, to the quiet amusement of his small audience.
"I shall send for the mason this morning," said the admiral. "I've been dreaming of The Black Cat and all sorts of horrible things. I hate like sixty to spoil the old chimney, but we can't have this going on. We'll have it down at once. A fire these days is only a nice touch to the mahogany."