"Stop right there," I said. "What's a Condottiere?"
"It's a sort of brigand. He, you understand, was in league with this Fra Fraliccolo...."
A suspicion flashed across my mind. "Look here," I said firmly, "if the scene of this story is laid in the Highlands, I refuse to listen to it. Call it off."
"No, no," Sinclair answered quickly, "that's all right. It's laid in Italy ... time of Pius the something. He comes in—say, but he's great! so darned crafty. It's him, you know, that persuades this Franciscan...."
"Pause," I said, "what Franciscan?"
"Fra Fraliccolo, of course," Sinclair said snappishly. "You see, Pio tries to...."
"Whoa!" I said, "who is Pio?"
"Oh, hang it all, Pio is Italian, it's short for Pius. He tries to get Fra Fraliccolo and Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere to steal the document from ... let me see; what was he called?...Oh, yes ... from the Dog of Venice, so that ... or ... no, hang it, you put me out, that's all wrong. It's the other way round. Pio wasn't clever at all; he's a regular darned fool. It's the Dog that's crafty. By Jove, he's fine," Sinclair went on; warming up to enthusiasm again, "he just does anything he wants. He makes this Demonio (Demonio is one of those hirelings, you know, he's the tool of the Dog)...makes him steal the document off Porphirio, and...."
"But how does he get him to do that?" I asked.
"Oh, the Dog has Demonio pretty well under his thumb, so he makes Demonio scheme round till he gets old Pio—er—gets him under his thumb, and then, of course, Pio thinks that Porphirio—I mean he thinks that he has Porphirio—er—has him under his thumb."