“The message of the signorina is a simple one,” answered Marucci in Italian. “It is to warn you to leave England secretly and at once. To fly instantly—to-morrow—because the truth is known.”
“The truth known!” he gasped, half rising from his seat, then dropping back and glaring fixedly at the stranger.
“Yes,” the man replied. “It is unfortunately so.”
“How do you know that?”
“How?” repeated the thin-faced Tuscan, bending towards Chisholm in a confidential manner. “Because I chance to be in the service of your enemies.”
“What? You are in the British Secret Service?” cried the Under-Secretary, amazed by this revelation.
“Si, signore. I am under the Signor Capitano Cator.”
“And you are also in the service of the Signorina Mortimer?”
“That is so,” answered the man, smiling.
“You are actually one of Cator’s agents?”