"Yes, always."
"And learn to be a great musician?"
"Certainly, if you work very hard."
"I shall work very hard, then, to please you and——" he paused and sobbed violently.
"And whom, Giovanni?"
"And mother. She will know, will she not?"
But Dalziel gave no answer.
The same night Dalziel had another fit of musing. It followed a lengthened perusal of the papers he had brought away with him from the chamber of death. One paper, however, was missing. He had left it behind the night before and could obtain no trace of it. The landlord denied having entered the room overnight with a pass-key, but Dalziel did not believe him, though strangely enough he instituted no inquiry regarding the missing document.
"It is as well," he said to himself; "it is as well it should go. Nothing can come of it, and when the boy is of age justice shall be done. Till then, things are best as they are." Then he took up the faded scrap of music and locked it into the secret drawer of his writing-desk, again muttering: "Nothing can come of it. It's quite meaningless to an outsider; no, nothing can come of it. Arthur Dalziel, your position is secure; besides, you're his proper guardian in any case—his legal guardian."