“Of that there is no doubt,” I said.
“And if you found your signora alive and well, you would undertake to make no further inquiry?” he repeated, with undue eagerness.
“Ah! You wish to tie me down to that?” I cried. “You do so because you and your friends are in fear. You realise your own peril—eh?”
“No,” declared the man at my side; “you still entirely misunderstand me. You are an Englishman, and you mistrust me merely because I am a foreigner. It is a prejudice all you English have, more or less.”
“I entertain no prejudice,” I declared hotly. “But to tell you the truth, Antonio, I am tired of all this mystery, and now that Kirk and his friends have alienated me from my wife, I intend to take action.”
“In what manner?” he asked calmly.
“I shall go to the Questore here, in Rome, and tell the truth. I happen to know him personally.”
“And you will mention my name!” he gasped, well knowing probably the drastic measures adopted by the police of his own country.
“I shall not be able to avoid mentioning it,” I responded, with a smile.
“Bene!” he answered, in a hard, hoarse voice. “And if you did—well, signore, I can promise that you would never again see your signora alive. Go to the Questore now! Tell him all you know! Apply for my arrest! And then wait the disaster that must fall upon you, and upon your missing wife. An unseen hand struck Professor Greer—an unseen hand will most assuredly strike you, as swiftly, as unerringly.” And then facing me defiantly, a grin upon his sinister face, the fellow added: “Silence, signore, is your only guarantee of safety—I assure you!”