I longed to ask him straight out whether he did not sometimes go under the name of Paolo Melandrini, yet I feared to do so lest I should arouse his suspicion unduly.
“Time can only reveal that Reginald Seton has been one of the dead man’s best friends,” I said reflectively.
“Outwardly, yes,” was the Capuchin’s dubious remark.
“An enemy as deadly as the Ceco?” I inquired, watching his face the while.
“The Ceco!” he gasped, instantly taken aback by my bold remark. “Who told you of him? What do you know regarding him?”
The monk had evidently forgotten what he had written in that letter to Blair.
“I know that he is in London,” I responded, taking my cue from his own words. “The girl is with him,” I added, utterly unaware however of the identity of the person referred to.
“Well?” he asked.
“And if they are in London it is surely for no good purpose?”
“Ah!” he said. “Blair has told you something—told you of his suspicions?”