“No, only compatriot, whose acquaintance I made in London. He is a coward.”
“Evidently. One more question and I have done. Have you any brothers?”
“Yes, sir; two.”
“And about a dozen cousins, I suppose, all of whom would be delighted to murder me—if they could. Now, give that gentleman your dagger, and march, au pas gymnastique.”
With a very ill grace, Giuseppe Griscelli did as he was bid, and then, rising to his feet, he marched, not, however, at the pas gymnastique, but slowly and deliberately; and as he reached a bend in the path a few yards farther on, he turned round and cast at Mr. Fortescue the most diabolically ferocious glance I ever saw on a human countenance.
[Chapter V.]
Thereby Hangs a Tale.
“You believe now, I hope,” said Mr. Fortescue, as we walked homeward.
“Believe what, sir?”