“I cannot see your point,” said the Minister of War, his uniform-hat tucked beneath his arm.
“Cannot you see that if this Englishman really knows the story of Sazarac it is to our mutual interests that he should not speak of it? It might mean ruin for us,” Borselli pointed out in a low, earnest voice. “Cannot you see that, being in the employ of that pompous hog-merchant Morgan-Mason, and badly paid for his services he is longing for a higher and more lucrative position? Is it not but natural? He knows Italy, and would be only too eager to accept an appointment in the Ministry—where we really want a good English secretary. Such a man would be of the utmost value to both of us.”
“Then you suggest that we should offer him an appointment?”
“Exactly,” was Borselli’s reply. “If you agree to give the fellow a secretaryship, leave the rest to me. He will be only too eager to accept an appointment under the Government, and once in Rome and in our employ, he will never dare to open his mouth regarding the ugly affair.”
Chapter Eighteen.
Counting the Cost.
Next day at noon Mary, who was out driving in the smart English victoria, called at the Ministry and again sat alone with her father trying to persuade him to order an inquiry into the case of the unfortunate Felice Solaro.
“It is useless, my dear,” was his impatient answer. “He has already been here himself, but the case is proved up to the very hilt. I therefore cannot interfere.”