Those who knew Ferrari intimately discovered that this rescuing of would-be suicides from the Grand Canal was an idiosyncrasy of his. He affected to have saved half the distinguished travellers of Europe in this manner.
“Now, Signor Ferrari, you have no doubt considered that the charge you have brought against Mr. Harold Marchant is a very serious one——”
“Scusatemi, illustrissimo gentleman, I bring no charge,” protested Ferrari, in his curious English, which he spoke with an American accent, having improved his knowledge of the language in the society of American travellers, few of whom condescended to Italian or even French. “I bring no charge. Mr. Sefton tell me, trace for me the movements of a young man called ’Arol Marchant. Find him for me. He was last heard of with a party of explorers in Mashonaland. He good shot. Kill big game. With these bare facts I set to work. I am one who never stop. I am like the devil in Job, always going to and fro over the earth. I know men in all parts; couriers, interpreters, servants of every class, money-changers, shipping agents. From among these I get my information, and here it is tabulated. It is for the illustrissimo to judge for herself, having seen my facts.”
He opened a neat little book, where, upon ruled paper, appeared a record of the movements of Harold Marchant from the hour of his appearing at the diamond fields to his return from New York with a party of Americans, in whose company he put up at the Hotel di Roma, Pension Suisse, on the Grand Canal.
When he was at the Hotel di Roma he was known as Marchant. His signature was in the visitors’ book at the hotel. Ferrari had seen it, and had recorded the date, which was in the September preceding that February in which Vansittart had shared in the gaieties of the Carnival at Venice. A fortnight later Mr. Marchant took a second floor in the Campo Goldoni, under the name of Smith. There was no doubt in the courier’s mind as to the identity of the man in the Campo Goldoni with the man at the Hotel di Roma. He had talked with a New Yorker who had known Marchant under both names, and who knew of his relations with the pretty lace-maker. But there was nothing in Ferrari’s statement which could be called proof positive of this identity. The facts rested on information obtained at second hand. It was open to Vansittart to doubt—since error was not impossible—error as complete as that mistake which had put the man who was killed in the place of the man who killed him.
Ferrari tracked the fugitive on his voyage to Alexandria: recorded the name of Smith given to the captain of the P. and O. After Alexandria there was nothing.
“Do you think he came back to Europe by another steamer?” asked Vansittart, testing the all-knowing Venetian.
“Not he, Altissimo. Having once set his foot upon the soil of Africa he would be too wise to return to Europe. He might go to India, to America—north or south—but he would not come to England, to answer for the English life which he had taken. You Englishmen set great store upon life.”
Vansittart dismissed the man with a present, but before he went Ferrari laid his card upon the table, and begged that if ever the illustrissimo required a travelling servant, he, Ferrari, might be remembered.
When he was gone Vansittart took up his pen and wrote hastily to Sefton.