“Not likely. You recollect that you urged me to say nothing, as the Italian Embassy did not wish the fact revealed.”
“Ah! That’s fortunate!” I cried, much relieved. “What did you tell him?”
“I said that it was true an Italian gentleman did die here, but he was a very old man named Massari. Before he died his son joined him, and after his death took all his belongings away. Was that right?”
“Excellent.”
“The stranger made very careful inquiries as to the appearance of the man who died, and I gave an entirely wrong description of him. I said that he had white hair and a long white beard, and that he walked rather lame, with the help of a stick. In fact I showed him a stick in the hall which I said belonged to the dead man. He was also very inquisitive regarding the man’s son who I said had taken away all his belongings. I described him as having a short reddish beard, but a man of rather gentlemanly bearing. The fellow Gordon-Wright struck me as an awful bounder, and that’s why I filled him up with lies. Do you know him? Is he a friend of yours?”
“Friend!” I echoed. “No, the reverse. I wonder what he wanted to discover. You didn’t mention me, I suppose?”
“No. Why should I?”
“I’m glad of that, for there’s evidently some fresh conspiracy in progress.”
“Probably there is. He’s a shrewd fellow without a doubt.”
“An outsider, my dear Sammy,” I declared. “That fellow’s a thief—a friend of Miller’s.”