“He shall be paid,” said the doctor. “He shall lose nothing by trusting you.”
An hour afterward, while walking with the doctor in a side street, Phil’s attention was attracted by the notes of a hand-organ. Turning in the direction from which they came, he met the glance of his old enemy, Pietro.
“It is Pietro,” he said, quickly, touching the arm of his companion.
Pietro had not been certain till then that it was Phil. It looked like him, to be sure, but his new clothing and general appearance made such a difference between him and the Phil of former days that he would have supposed it only an accidental resemblance. But Phil’s evident recognition of him convinced him of his identity. He instantly ceased playing, and, with eager exultation, advanced to capture him. Phil would have been alarmed but for his confidence in the doctor’s protection.
“I have got you at last, scelerato,” said Pietro, roughly, grasping Phil by the shoulder with a hostile glance.
The doctor instantly seized him by the collar, and hurled him back.
“What do you mean by assaulting my son?” he demanded, coolly.
Pietro was rather astonished at this unexpected attack.
“He is my brother,” he said. “He must go back with me.”
“He is not your brother. If you touch him again, I will hand you to the police.”