"Venice? How about Rome and Florence?"
"Which would you prefer: Rome and the antiquities, or Venice and—Kitty Killigrew?"
"Kitty in Venice? Are you sure?"
"She is there with La Signorina Capricciosa. Oh, this is a fine world, after all, and I was wrong to speak ill of it this morning."
"If Kitty's in Venice, I'm an ungrateful beggar, too. But I do not see why Kitty's being in Venice excites you."
"No? Well, fate writes that Kitty's mysterious prima donna and my Lady of the Mask are one and the same person."
"No!"
The two, without further words, marched along the middle of the Corso to the hotel, which was only a few steps away. They entered. The concierge started toward them as if he desired to impart some valuable information, but suddenly reconsidered, and retreated to his bandbox of an office and busied himself with the ever-increasing debours. The strangeness of his movements passed unnoticed by the two men, who continued on through the lobby, turning into the first corridor. Hillard inserted his key in the door of his room, unlocked it, and swung it inward. This done, he paused irresolutely on the threshold, and with good cause.
"What the devil can this mean?" he whispered to Merrihew, who peered over his shoulder.
Two dignified carabinieri rose quickly and approached Hillard. There was something in the flashing eyes and set jaws that made him realize that the safest thing for him to do at that moment was to stand perfectly still!