A shadow suddenly fell between them, and they both sprang to their feet with a little exclamation. A man was standing before them as unexpectedly as though he had risen from the earth or dropped from the sky. He was short and thick-set, with coarsely accentuated features; he wore a loose white shirt and a red cotton sash, and though the shirt was fastened at the throat, Marcia could see the mark of the crucifix on his brown skin as plainly as if it were visible.
‘It’s the tattooed man!’ she gasped out, but as she felt Sybert’s restraining touch on her arm she calmed herself.
The man took off his hat with a polite bow and an impertinent smile.
‘Buona sera, signorina,’ he murmured. ‘Buona sera, Friend of the Poor. I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I come on business molto urgente.’
‘What is your business?’ Sybert asked sharply.
‘My business is with Signor Copley.’
‘What is this? Some one to see me?’ Copley asked, appearing in the doorway. ‘Well, my man,’ he added in Italian, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘Uncle Howard, don’t speak to him! It’s the tattooed man,’ Marcia cried. ‘There’s a plot. He wants to kill you.’
An expression approaching amusement flitted over Mr. Copley’s face as he looked his visitor over.