But the Austrian did not take himself off. “I beg your pardon,” he ventured, “but I cannot go without giving you a word of warning. There is great danger. I beg you not to expose yourself to it.”
“What would you have me do, my friend? Go into hiding?”
“No; and still——”
“Bah! I am not afraid.”
“Nevertheless, signore, if you had heard what I heard. Oh, the way they cried out against you! Believe me, their passions are roused, and there is no telling what a mob may do.”
“It is considerate of you,” said Tarsis, “but I think I know how to take care of myself. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, sir; and again I beg of you not to expose yourself until after order is restored.”
That the superintendent’s admonition was not wasted appeared when he had gone from the room. Tarsis paced the floor awhile, striving for some way to enter the furnace without getting burnt. To the quarter of the Ticinese Gate he was resolved to go to-night at whatsoever cost.
If it were possible to sharpen his thirst for the blood of Mario Forza the turn of events, as narrated by the Austrian, had done the work. He felt that he could not compose himself to sleep again until a decisive step had been taken. As usual, his thinking bore fruit in definite ways and means; and in three hours, when the street lamps were lit, the master of the palace watched his chance and stole out by the Via Cappuccini gate. He had clipped his beard; instead of a white collar he wore a dark silk muffler; his hat was a broad-brimmed one of felt, and a pair of coloured goggles concealed his eyes.