"But there it is," said Adrian. "Now see how I 'm forced to disappoint you. I 'm awfully sorry, but I 'm not Mr. Anthony Craford—no, nor Craford of Craford, either."
"What?" puzzled Franco.
"Not Craford?" puzzled Baldo.
"No," said Adrian, sadly. "I 'm awfully sorry, but my name is Willes."
"Willes?" said Franco. "But it was Craford in the visitors' book at the
Palazzo Rosso. That's how we knew you were here."
"My brother is the Hereditary Constable of the Palace," said Baldo. "It is now merely an honorary office. But the visitors' book is brought to him whenever there have been any visitors."
"And we inquired for Craford downstairs," supplemented Franco. "And they said you were at home, and showed us up."
"I 'm awfully sorry," repeated Adrian. "But Craford and I are as distinct as night and morning. Craford has gone out for a solitary walk. My name is Willes. Craford and I are travelling together."
"Oh, I see," cried Franco; and slapping his thigh, "Ho, ho, ho," he laughed.
"Ho, ho, ho," laughed Baldo. "We were jolly well sold."