"On my own business," said the man.
"That is not true," said the Count. "You are not a robber—you have been here for two hours. Many persons well dressed have down this street, yet you did not attack them." The living vice which bound his throat was again compressed. The man made a sign that he wished to speak. The Count relaxed his hold.
"Whom do you watch?"
"Yourself."
"You know me, then?"
"Yes."
"Who bade you watch me?"
The stranger was silent. Feeling the iron hand again clasp him, he muttered, "A great lady sent me."
"Her name?" said the Count, who began to guess, but who wished to be sure.
"The Neapolitan ambassadress."