Maselli (as he may remain in this record) was so excited that he literally could not obey.
"I've cut completely adrift from the old crowd, sir," he pleaded wistfully. "I'm an engraver now, and in good work. Heaven help me, I'm married, too. She doesn't know. She thinks I was stranded in America, and that I changed my name because Italians are thought more of than Englishmen in my line."
"Giovanni Maselli, may I ask what you are talking about?" said Winter, stiffening visibly.
At last the hunted and haunted wretch persuaded himself that "the Yard" meant to be merciful. Tears glistened in his eyes, but he finished the whisky and soda and remained silent.
"Good!" said Winter more cheerfully. "I sha'n't call you Maselli again if you don't behave. Now, how long have you lived in Gloucester Mansions?"
"Four months, sir. Ever since my marriage."
Winter smiled. The man had gone straight from the gates of Portland to some woman who was waiting for him! He was an old offender, but had proved slippery as an eel—hence a stiff sentence when caught; but penal servitude had conquered him.
"Has Miss Eileen Garth lived in No. Eleven during those four months?" was the next question.
"Yes, sir—two years or more, I believe. Her mother mentioned something of it to my wife one day."