"Ah!" Giovanni stroked his lips doubtfully. "It is not like the signore to plunge blindly into adventures like this."
"The very word, blindly. I go blindfolded, amico. What do you think of that?"
"Blindfolded?" Giovanni was horrified. "It is a trap!" he cried. "They will assassinate you! No, you shall not go! In Rome, at the carnivals, it is an old game. They will rob you."
"You are dreaming. This is America; things are not done that way here. And nothing now can turn me aside." Hillard was all the while finishing his toilet.
"I suppose not. But blindfolded!"
"Take the number of the cab as I get in. If anything should happen, give the number to the police."
Giovanni, with a sharp movement of the hands, expressed his resignation to the worst. He knew the futility of arguing with his master. But he followed him down to the hall and tied on the bandage himself. He was honest about it, too, for Hillard could see nothing. Then the messenger-boy took him by the hand and led him to the carriage. As the two were climbing in, Giovanni spoke rapidly in his native tongue.
"There is no number on the carriage!"
"Too late to bother now."
The carriage rolled off toward the club, where the dinner, hot and smoking, was taken on.