Hillard laughed. "I might have broken your wrist, but did not. You are not grateful."
The carabinieri moved forward again.
"The affair is over," said Hillard amiably. "This officer has mistaken me for some one he knows."
The scar was livid on the Italian's cheek. He stood undecided for a space. His companion laid a restraining hand on his arm. He nodded, and the two made off. What might in former days have been a tragedy was nothing more than a farce. But it spoiled the night for Merrihew, and he was for going back to the hotel. Hillard agreed.
"At first I wanted you to give him a good stiff punch," said Merrihew, "but I am glad you didn't."
"We should have slept in the lockup over night if I had. The carabinieri would not have understood my excuses. If our friend is left-handed, he'll be inconvenienced for a day or two. I put some force into that grip. You see, Dan, the Italian still fights his duels. Dueling is not extinct in the army here. An officer who refuses to accept a challenge for a good or bad cause is practically hounded out of the service. It would have been a fine joke if I had been fool enough to accept his challenge. He would have put daylight through me at the first stroke."
"I don't know about that," replied Merrihew loyally. "You are the crack fencer in New York."
"But New York isn't Florence, my boy. I'll show you some fencing to-morrow. If my old fencing master, Foresti Paoli, is yet in Florence, I'll have him arrange some matches. New York affairs will look tame to you then."
"But what has he to do with your vanishing lady?"
"I should like to know."