“Of course not,” she said, flinging herself into his ready arms and shedding tears of joy. “I fear nothing now, because I know that you love me, Nino,” she sobbed. “I know you will not believe anything that is alleged against me. You have asked me to marry you, and I am content—ah! absolutely content to do so. But even now I do not hold you to your promise, because of my inability to divulge to you my secret. If you think me untrue or scheming, then let us part. If you believe I love you, then let us marry in England and be happy.”
“I love you, Gemma,” he answered low and earnestly. “Let us go together to London, and let this be the last hour of our doubt and unhappiness.”
Chapter Twelve.
A Word with His Excellency.
One morning, about ten days after Armytage had left Leghorn with Gemma, a rather curious consultation took place at the Italian Embassy in Grosvenor Square between Count Castellani, the Ambassador to the Court of St. James’, and Inspector Elmes, of the Criminal Investigation Department.
The Ambassador, a handsome, grey-haired man of sixty with courtly manner as became the envoy of the most polite nation in the world, stroked his beard thoughtfully while he listened to the detective. He was sitting at his big writing-table in the small, well-furnished room where he was in the habit of holding private conference with those with whom the Chief Secretary of Embassy had no power to deal. Elmes, smart, well-shaven, and ruddy, sat in a large easy chair close by, and slowly explained the reason of his visit.
“I remember the case quite well,” His Excellency exclaimed when the detective paused. “Some papers regarding it were placed before me, but I left my Secretary to deal with them. The girl, if I remember aright, arrived in London from Livorno accompanied by an unknown Englishman, and was found dead in a cab at Piccadilly Circus—mysteriously murdered, according to the medical evidence.”
“The jury returned an open verdict, but without doubt she was the victim of foul play,” Elmes said decisively.