“The Signore Dottore is at home,” was her reply in Italian. “Be pleased to enter.”
And she showed me along a narrow hall to what was evidently Moroni’s waiting-room. The atmosphere of the place was close on account of the charcoal stove, and the barely-furnished room smelt of some disinfectant.
I had sat there for some moments when I heard a door open, and men’s voices sounded speaking in English:
“Very well, signore,” I heard the doctor say. “I will be up at the villa at eleven o’clock.”
“Good,” replied the other. “You will not be troubled by Robertson this time. He will be away. I am sending him on a message to Pisa, as I do not want him about; he is too inquisitive. Besides, you will not come to the house. You quite understand where we shall meet?”
“Quite, signore,” replied Moroni.
By the mode in which the doctor addressed his visitor, and the mention of Robertson, it was plain that he was speaking with Oswald De Gex. Why was the butler to be sent to Pisa? I wondered.
I sat breathless, listening to the footsteps along the hall, and to Moroni wishing his visitor good afternoon.
A few moments later he opened the door brusquely and with a pleasant smile apologized for keeping me waiting. Then he conducted me to his consulting-room, a gloomy, frowsy little apartment much over-heated, as is usual in Florentine houses in winter.