"I have had a letter from him."
"Really?"
"It is in the hands of the carabinieri, hence this journey of my friend, Colonel Neri, from Messina."
"What did the letter say?"
"It demanded a great sum of money, with my life as the penalty for refusal. It was signed by Cardi; there was no mistaking the name. If it had been from Narcone, for instance, I would have paid no attention to it, for he is no more than a cattle-thief. But Belisario Cardi! My boy, you don't appreciate the significance of that name. I should not care to fall into his hands, I assure you, and have my feet roasted over a slow fire—"
"Good heavens!" Norvin cried, rising abruptly from his chair. "You don't really mean he's that sort?"
"As a matter of fact," the Count reassured his guest, "I don't believe
in his existence at all. It is merely a name to be used upon occasion.
But as for the punishment, that is perhaps the least I might expect if
I were so unfortunate as to be captured."
"Why, this can't be! Do you realize that this is the year 1886? Such things are not possible any longer. In your father's time—yes."
"All things are possible in Sicily," smiled Savigno. "We are a century behind the times. But, caro mio, I did wrong to tell you—"
"No, no."