He rose from his bed, and watched through the opening of his door. There was a guard outside, who paced backward and forward solemnly. Gualtier's knowledge of human nature, and of Italian human nature in particular, suggested to him a way by which he might send a message. After some delay he signaled to the guard, who, after looking around cautiously, came up to his door.
"I want to send a message," said Gualtier, in the best Italian that he could muster. "It is very important. It is to a friend. I will pay well."
The guard looked interested.
"Where is your friend?" he asked.
"In the city. Can I have the message sent? I will pay two hundred piastres if I get an answer."
The guard hesitated.
"Wait," said he, after a few moments' thought; "I will see."
He went away, and was gone for about twenty minutes. When he returned he exchanged a glance of profound intelligence with Gualtier, and said:
"I think it can be done, signore."
At this Gaultier went back, and, tearing a leaf out of his pocket-book, penciled the following words: