"Vous suivez moi," said the sallowfaced man.
They walked after him up a winding stone stair, the woman following with the taper. They came out on a landing, went through a passageway and found themselves in a brightly lighted room with pink wallpaper and gold-framed mirrors.
"Ah!" said the French captain, pulling off his gloves. They sat down at a marble-topped table with carved ebony legs. The fatfaced woman who had opened the door hung over them, grinning. "Let's drink a little something ... Une bouteille de Marsala," he said and rubbed his hands. "I like the quiet, gentlemanly way you Americans do these things. Very distinguished."
The woman opened a cupboard and produced a bottle and glasses on a silver tray. She poured out four glasses.
"A desso," she said, and her grin reached nearly to her ears.
Two girls in evening dress swished in operatically through the door. One wore pink and the other blue. The girl who sat down beside Fanshaw had a small mouth and large tired brown eyes.
"Lei," she said with enthusiasm, "parla Italiano?"
"Si, un poco," stammered Fanshaw blushing.
"Ah, if you speak Italian, mon capitaine," said the French captain, "would you mind explaining to this little lady of mine what I told you about the Yohimbé tree?... It's very important."
"I don't remember," said Fanshaw in a crisp, angry voice, and turned again to the girl in pink beside him.