The air with which she delivered this command was noble enough for any one. The inspector was overcome. "But as your Highness has never before occupied the villa, some definite assurance—"
"You will telegraph to Cranford and Baring, in the Corso Umberto Primo, Rome. They will supply you with the necessary details and information."
The inspector inscribed the address in his notebook, bowed, backed away and bowed again. The crunch of the gravel under his feet was as a sinister thunder, and it was the only sound. He spoke to the carabinieri. They saluted, and the trio marched toward the gates.
There remained a tableau, picturesque but tense. Then Kitty began to cry softly.
"Are you mad?" cried Hillard, his voice harsh and dry.
La Signorina laughed recklessly. "If you call this madness."
"Smith, my boy," said O'Mally, moistening his lips, "you and I this night will pack up our little suit-cases and—movimento, moto, viaggio, or whatever the Dago word is for move on. I'm out of the game; the stakes are too high. I pass, signorina."
"How could you do it?" sobbed Kitty.
Merrihew patted her hand and scowled.
"What an ado!" said La Signorina, shrugging. "So you all desert me?"