"Can I be of assistance?" asked the Italian.
The American welcomed the unlooked-for offer. He pointed to Minardi. "This man is accusing me of something I know nothing about. He evidently thinks I am someone else. I can't seem to make him see his mistake." At the same time he handed his card to his would-be rescuer.
The card read: "John Dorning, Dorning and Son, Antiques, New York."
The young Italian flicked the card with a flourish. His lean jaw squared and he turned on Minardi. "You have made a grave error," he said rapidly in Italian. "This gentleman is an American. He is not the person you seek at all." And as Minardi broke into a shrill protest, he interrupted, "Stop! Do you want to be arrested? Do you wish the American Consul to prosecute you? Fool! Go! And tell your friends to go also."
He turned swiftly to the American and said in low-voiced English, "And we had better go too. These people are stupid and quarrelsome. Come along. My car is the other side of the inn."
He turned his back upon the crowd and forged away rapidly, the American following. They broke through bushes and the scent of disturbed flowers assailed their nostrils. They dodged through shadows. At length they came out where a low-hanging Isotta roadster was drawn up just out of the road. Behind them sounded pursuing voices and the crackling of bushes. Some one hurled a stick that landed in a flower bed short of them. They could distinguish Minardi's voice booming futilely amid the din.
The young Italian turned his head back toward them and laughed derisively into the moonlight as he pressed his foot upon the starter of his car. With a roar and the sudden pungent odor of petrol, the Isotta leaped forth like a leopard springing at a bullock.
A half mile of silent and hard driving, along the shore road, and the car was whipped abruptly to the left into a rough dirt highway and started climbing. The driver slowed down, due to rocks and ruts, furnishing an opportunity for conversation.
"I neglected to introduce myself," he smiled. "I am Rodrigo Torriani, the admirer of Rosa."
John Dorning jolted about in sober silence.