“Yes,” Waldron went on boldly, “I do not believe the man knows anything more than what he has already stated.”
“But what has he told you?” inquired Pironti, whose attitude showed that he was full of resentment that a foreigner should be employed by His Majesty to investigate the scandal.
“That, signore, is my own affair,” was Waldron’s cool reply as he rose from his chair.
“Pironti, have the corporal placed under arrest, and see that nobody speaks with him,” His Excellency ordered, a trifle pale with suppressed anger at Hubert’s words.
The latter, however, turned towards the Minister and said in a hard voice:
“I wish Your Excellency to remember that His Majesty the King has vested me with full powers on his behalf—as you will see by this decree,” and he drew a letter from his pocket. “Corporal Tonini is not to be arrested, nor is he to be threatened—or even approached. This inquiry is now in my hands, General Cataldi, not in yours. Please recollect that this is His Majesty’s orders, and that I am the King’s agent in this matter. Good morning.” And he turned and left the trio staring at each other in silence.
As he turned the corner under the high walls of the Palazzo Albani and walked up the narrow Via Quattro Fontane in the direction of his rooms in the Via Nazionale, he felt convinced that by His Excellency’s manner he had some knowledge of that package of documents.
Back in his own sitting-room he threw himself into a chair before the English coal fire—a luxury in Rome—lit his old briar pipe, and composed himself to reflect.
Ghelardi was one of the most renowned spies in Europe and would, without a doubt, know every secret agent of Austria who had recently been or was in Rome at that moment. Should he consult him? That was a very difficult problem, for from the outset he knew the old man would be antagonistic and would feel that the Englishman was usurping his position and power.
The Italian police official is remarkable for his cunning shrewdness and resourcefulness. In the Secret Police of Italy are men of remarkable, even astounding, tact and ability as investigators of crime. Even the ordinary plain-clothes policeman in Italy is, as a rule, a much more astute officer than those of the same grade in London, Paris, or Berlin. Indeed the Italian with his suave politeness, his natural shrewdness, his keen intelligence, and his suspicious nature makes a most excellent detective, and many of the cleverest officers of the Paris Sûreté and the detective departments of Berlin and New York have graduated through the Secret Police of Italy.