Clinch, for it was he, scouring the shore in quest of the lugger, on his way back to the Proserpine, gave a growl when he found that he must speak in a foreign tongue, if he would continue the discourse; then he mustered all the Italian of which he was master for the occasion. Having cruised long on the station, this was sufficient, however, for his present purpose.
"Is that a boat from Massa or from Capri?" he inquired.
"Neither, S'nore," answered Raoul, afraid to trust Carlo's conscience with the management of such a dialogue. "We come round the cape, from St. Agata, and carry figs to Napoli."
"St. Agata, aye, that is the village on the heights; I passed a night there myself, in the house of one Maria Giuntotardi--"
"Who can this be?" murmured Ghita--"my aunt knows no forestieri!"
"An Inglese, by his thick speech and accent. I hope he will not ask for figs for his supper!"
Clinch was thinking of other things at that moment; and when he continued, it was to follow the train of his own thoughts.
"Have you seen anything of a barone-looking lugger," he asked, "French-rigged, and French-manned, skulking anywhere about this coast?"
"Si--she went north, into the Gulf of Gaeta, just as the sun was setting, and is, no doubt, gone to anchor under the cannon of her countrymen."
"If she has, she'll find herself in hot water," answered Clinch, in English. "We've craft enough up there, to hoist her in and dub her down to a jolly-boat's size, in a single watch. Did you see anything of a frigate this evening, near the Point of Campanella? An Inglese, I mean; a tight six-and-thirty, with three new topsails."