A man coming along the pavement had run into him as he leaned on the iron railing of a front yard, arms folded, and had uttered the exclamation in a harsh voice.
"Scusi!" said the Italian, lifting his hat. "Beg your pardon!"
"Hello!" repeated the man. "Is it you, Antonio?"
"O Signor Roller! Mr. Inspector!"
"Signor Roller! Mr. Inspector! That's enough Signoring and Inspectoring," said the man, with a loud laugh—"for the present, at least, till we have given it to the old man—to him and his nephew and his whole brood! If I could only get at the throat of all of them—could only play them a real trick! I'd be willing to pay something for it! Only I have no money! It's all up!"
The man laughed again; he was evidently half drunk.
"I have money," said Antonio quickly, "and——"
"Then we'll take a drink, Signor Italiano," exclaimed the other, slapping him on the shoulder. "Una bottiglia—capisci? Ha! ha! I have not entirely forgotten my Italian! Carrara—marble oxen—capisci?—capisci?"
"Eccomi tutto a voi," said the Italian, taking the man's arm. "Whither?"
"To business, to the devil, to the cellar!" exclaimed Roller, laughingly pointing to the red lantern above the saloon at the corner of the Springbrunnenstrasse.