Before going to bed Roma wrote to the Baron:
"Certain you are wrong. Why waste time sending Charles Minghelli to London? Why? Why? Why? The forger will find out nothing, and if he does, it will only be by exercise of his Israelitish art of making bricks without straw. Stop him at once if you wish to save public money and spare yourself personal disappointment. Stop him! Stop him! Stop him!
"P.S.—To show you how far astray your man has gone, D. R. mentioned to-night that he was once a waiter at the Grand Hotel!"
VI
Next morning David Rossi arrived early.
"Now we must get to work in earnest," said Roma. "I think I see my way at last."
It was not John the beloved disciple, John who lay in the bosom of his Lord. It was Peter, the devoted, stalwart, brave individual, human, erring but glorious Peter. "Thou art Peter, and on this rock I build my church."
"Same position as before. Eyes the other way. Thank you!... Afraid you didn't enjoy yourself last night—no?"
"At the theatre? I was interested. But the human spectacle was perhaps more to me than the artistic one. I am no artist, you see.... How did you become a sculptor?"
"Oh, I studied a little in the studios of Paris, where I went to school, you see."