Tony of course could know nothing of this, and as his eyes fell upon the lieutenant, there was apparent in their depths a large measure of contempt. A lieutenant in the Royal Italian Cavalry can afford to be generous in many things, but he cannot afford to swallow contempt from a donkey-driver. The signorina was not present this time; there was no reason why he should not punish the fellow. He dropped his hand on Tony’s shoulder—on his collar to be exact—and whirled him about. The action was accompanied by some vigorous colloquial Italian—the gist of it being that Tony was to mind his own business and mend his manners. The lieutenant had a muscular arm, and Tony turned. But Tony had not played quarterback four years for nothing; he tackled low, and the next moment the lieutenant was rolling down the bank of a dried stream that stretched at their feet. No one likes to roll down a dusty stony bank, much less an officer in immaculate uniform on the eve of paying a formal call upon ladies. He picked himself up and looked at Tony; he was quite beyond speech.
Tony looked back and smiled. He swept off his hat with a deferential bow. ‘Scusi,’ he murmured, and jumped over the wall into the grounds of Villa Rosa.
The lieutenant gasped. If anything could have been more insultingly inadequate to the situation than that one word Scusi, it did not at the moment occur to him. Jeering, blasphemy, vituperation, he might have excused, but this! The shock jostled him back to a thinking state.
Here was no ordinary donkey-driver. 151] The hand that had rested for a moment on his arm was the hand of a gentleman. The man’s face was vaguely, elusively familiar; if the lieutenant had not seen him before, he had at least seen his picture. The man had pretended he could not talk Italian, but—Scusi—it came out very pat when it was needed.
An idea suddenly assailed Lieutenant di Ferara. He scrambled up the bank and skirted the wall, almost on a run, until he reached the place where his horse was tied. Two minutes later he was off at a gallop, headed for the house of the prefect of police of Valedolmo.
CHAPTER XVI
Tony jumped over the wall. He might have landed in the midst of a family party; but in so much luck was with him. He found the Farfalla bobbing at the foot of the water-steps with Mr. Wilder and Miss Hazel already embarked. They were waiting for Constance, who had obligingly run back to the house to fetch the rainbow shawl (finished that afternoon) as Miss Hazel distrusted the Italian night breeze.
Constance stepped out from the door as Tony emerged from the bushes. She regarded him in startled surprise; he was still in some slight disarray from his encounter with the lieutenant.
‘May I speak to you, Miss Wilder? I won’t detain you but a moment.’