Palladino pondered the matter. In his mercenary breast blended the new Fascisti-inspired dislike of the aristocrats with the ingrained contempt of the shopkeeper for his betters. He did not especially loathe young Count Rodrigo Torriani, last scion of a once powerful but now quite penniless family of local aristocrats. Nor did he fear him. He merely debated in his mind whether the gossip regarding the Torriani debts was accurate and whether to join Minardi in his venture was not to blackmail an empty purse. About Rosa's alleged injury and her father's concern over it, Palladino had no illusions. The question was simply whether the letters in Minardi's greasy coat were valuable enough to merit a risk. On the whole, he decided they were. He drew Minardi closer to him and drew up a plan.
The young Italian inside the Café Del Mare, having partaken of his fourth bottle of wine and glanced at his watch, was preparing to depart when the proprietor, looking very unctuous and important, approached and whispered into his ear, for several minutes. The young man smiled and nodded. The smile approached a sneer as his eyes followed the back of Palladino lumbering over to the side door of the café, which led down steps to the sea-wall, and opening it. Palladino peered back at his patron and indicated that he might use this exit. The young man again nodded. As the flower-girl passed his table he nodded to her too, but differently. The nod told the flower-girl that what she had stolen in to whisper to him five minutes previously was being confirmed. The young man drained his wineglass. Drama lurked in the offing. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.
What happened next promised at first to add to his rather sardonic sense of humor. The young American, having paid his bill, arose, took up his hat and prepared to depart. Since the newly-opened side door was handy and framed an alluring view of the moonlit bay, the American went through it and down the steps toward the sea wall. At once the young Italian, for whom the door had been opened, arose and slipped over to the shadows just inside the exit. He did not have to wait long. Almost at once came heavy scurrying footsteps outside. A deep voice roared in Italian, "So, Count Torriani, we meet at last!" Minardi had leaped from his ambush.
Warned by the proprietor that the trap was set and to seize the admirer of Rosa as he sought escape through the side door, Minardi accosted the American with the exuberance of a shaggy great St. Bernard dog leaping at a burglar.
"There is some mistake," protested the American quietly in Italian. He was not nearly as excited as his accuser.
"No, no," cried Minardi, whipping himself into a fine frenzy. "I have sought you all day. About my Rosa. You have mistreated her. It is a serious thing." He laid hold of the coat lapels of the American, at the same time wondering why the fellow did not bid him be quiet and come along to talk business in private. Palladino, lurking further along in the shadow and quite aware a mistake was being made, deemed silence the better course for himself. Let Minardi suffer for his error, the stupid cabbage.
"I know nothing of your Rosa. You have the wrong man," said the American, and he tried to pass his tormentor.
"Bah! You cannot fool me. I am Rosa's papa. Look!" Minardi whipped the letters from his pocket and waved them in the air. He turned and waved them in the faces of the dozen or more of his countrymen who, attracted by the noise, had at once deserted their tables and wine and were clustering about him.
"This man has injured my daughter, my family! He must pay. Is it not right?" cried Minardi, inspired by his audience. They muttered. They regarded the American with sullen suspicion and rising anger. They had no interest either in Minardi or his daughter. But they were of a low order of city-bred Italians who are always spoiling for a row and are on the side of the contestant with the louder voice.
To the young aristocrat, viewing and hearing the controversy from the shelter of Signor Palladino's side door, it seemed that at this point the comedy had proceeded far enough. It had ceased to appeal to him. So he stepped out and down the stone steps and ranged himself beside the American, who had turned a little white in the face of the rising menace but was otherwise composed.