"Non capisco," said the man, with a sort of dull finality.
Conversation languished. Jerry felt himself pretty well baffled, yet he had no choice but to go on with the unpromising attempt to elicit information here, as no other human being was in sight. He considered a moment, and then in an explosive tone, demanded:—
"Templi?"
"Bruto Inglise!" murmured the capo under his breath. "Che volete?" he added aloud.
"What?" asked Jerry, again scared over the dubious boundary of his Italian into English.
"Non capisco," repeated the Italian morosely, wetting his dingy forefinger, and going over his papers for at least the third time.
"Damn it!" cried Jerry, in complete exasperation, "if you say that again I'll punch your head!"
The other started back in such obvious terror that Tab hastened to propitiate him by putting on quickly his most ingratiating smile, and nodding as if he had made a merry joke. The other seemed reassured, although he edged away a little, as if he were doubtful of the sanity of this foreign brute; and Tab fell again to the effort to rally all the words in his Italian vocabulary about one idea.
"Dove," he began in one grand final attempt to wring information out of this sullen and taciturn official, "dove"— He was so pleased with himself for having remembered the word that he came near forgetting all the rest, but with a desperate rally, he went blundering on. "Dove, I say, is—is—la via per i templi?"