Fitzroy, a rather short, grey-bearded man with a florid countenance, had risen from a clerk's stool to be what he was, and differed in little particular from thousands of well-off city men who live in the West End and enter the anteroom of society.

Nevertheless, through the influence of the white-waistcoated Member for South-West Norfolk, a good many well-known people dined at Brook Street from time to time, while to Morgan-Mason's smart gatherings at his house or his dinners at the Carlton his sister and her husband were always invited.

It was pleasant enough to mix with such people as surrounded her employers, but, truth to tell, Filomena Nodari quickly found the post of governess monotonous and irksome. First of all, it was difficult for her to preserve her una.s.suming character as a paid menial; secondly, she hated children; thirdly, Bertha was a spoilt child, with no leaning towards lessons; and fourthly, the small bare schoolroom at the top of the house was a gloomy place in which to spend those bright spring days.

Still, she never complained. She was well paid by the Minister of War, and with a woman's love of intrigue, she had set herself to carefully accomplish the difficult task which Borselli had given her.

She was fortunate, inasmuch as Mrs Fitzroy treated her with such consideration. Indeed, sometimes when there were no visitors, she would invite her in to lunch with her, when they would generally talk French, a language with which her mistress was well acquainted.

So well did she act her part that the governess was quickly voted a treasure, and as Bertha was a particular favourite of her Uncle Morgan-Mason, the latter became gradually interested in her. Sometimes, indeed, he would come up to the schoolroom while lessons were in progress with an excuse to leave a packet of sweetmeats for his niece; but Filomena, with her woman's shrewd intuition, knew that he came to have a little chat with her.

He was inquisitive--always inquisitive.

One day as he sat with Bertha upon his knee in the schoolroom he asked about her parentage.

"You are a native of Bologna--where the sausages come from?" he laughed.

Perhaps he sold that comestible at his many shops, she reflected, but she answered in her broken English--

"Yes. But just as none of straw hats are made in Leghorn, so there are none of Bologna sausages made in Bologna."

"You must be already tired of life here in London after your beautiful Italy?" he remarked.

"Ah! non," she a.s.sured him. "I like your London--what leetle I have seen of it. But that is not very much. I take Bertha for one walk in the park, or down to what you call Kensington, every day. And many times we ascend to the roof of an omnibus. But omnibuses are so puzzling," she added, with a laugh. "You never know where one goes. We always ascend and seet there till we come to the end of the voyage. But we make some amusing errors many times. Only the day before to-day we ascended on a 'bus outside the Gallery Nationale, where are the fountains, paid twenty centimes--I mean two pennies--_eh bien_! the next street-corner past a church they turned us off--the omnibus went no farther!"

The millionaire laughed aloud, saying--

"It must have been a Royal Oak or Cricklewood 'bus coming home. They go no farther than Charing Cross."

"But oh!" she continued, "we go many time a long, long way--out into the country--away from London. Once we went on and on till I thought we would never arrest--right on till we came to a small town down by the river--Tweet-ham--Tweek-ham--the conductor called it, or something like that. Your English names are so very difficult. There was an island in the river, and an old church close by."

"Twickenham! You mean Twickenham!" he exclaimed. "Fancy your going so far on an omnibus! Your adventures, mademoiselle, must have been amusing."

"Ah yes. But poor madame! We did not return till seven of the clock, and she was fearing something had happened."

"Naturally," he said. "But let me give you a word of advice, mademoiselle. Be very careful where you go. London is not at all safe for a foreign lady like yourself, more especially if her face is as attractive as yours."

"Oh!" she laughed. "Mine has no attraction, surely. And I tell you, m'sieur, that I am not in the least afraid."

He had expected her to be impressed by his flattery, but she was not.

On the contrary, she pa.s.sed his remark as though it had never been uttered, and continued to relate to him her impressions of London and London life, some of which were distinctly humorous, for the streets of our metropolis always strike the foreigner as full of quaint incongruities, from the balancing of the hansom cab to the kilt of the Highland soldier.

He found her conversation amusing and interesting. She was somehow different from the wide circle of women of his acquaintance, those society dames who borrowed his money, ate his dinners, and gave tone to his entertainments. And this was exactly how she desired to impress him.

As the weeks went on, the society swallows returned from wintering in the South, and the London season began in earnest. The millionaire, a frequent visitor at his sister's house, often met the pleasant-faced governess, who very cleverly succeeded in increasing her popularity until she was well-known to Mrs Fitzroy's lady friends, and declared by them all to be "a perfect treasure."

None knew, however, save little Bertha--who feared to speak lest mademoiselle should punish her--of a rather curious incident which occurred one morning as she was sitting with her charge in Kensington Gardens. A tall, dark-faced, middle-aged man with black moustache, well-dressed in frock coat and silk hat, a fine diamond pin in his scarf, approached, raised his hat, uttered some mysterious words in Italian, and then took a seat at her side.

At first mademoiselle regarded the stranger with distrust, until he drew a paper from his pocket and allowed her to read it. Then, apparently satisfied, she listened to all he told her. But as it was in Italian, the child could not understand. She only noticed that mademoiselle turned rather pale, and seemed to be expressing deep regret.

The dark-faced man spoke slowly and calmly, while, on her part, she shrugged her shoulders and showed her palms, and responded with quick volubility, while the child sat at her side regarding the stranger in open-eyed wonder.

Presently, after a long argument, the man took from his pocket a small tin box of matches which he gave to her. Without examining it, she transferred it quickly to her coat-pocket, and then, after a few parting words, the man rose, raised his hat, and strode away towards Queen's Gate, swinging his cane airily as he walked.

"Who was that?" inquired the child after he had gone. "What did he give you, mademoiselle?"

"Nothing that concerns you, dearest," was her governess's reply.

"Remember you must say nothing of that m'sieur--nothing, you recollect.

You must never mention him to your mother or to anyone, because if you do I shall punish you very severely, and I shall never, never take you out with me again. You understand--eh?"

The child's face fell, and her eyes were fixed straight before her as she answered, "Very well, mademoiselle. I won't say anything."

"That's a good girl," her governess responded. "Some day you shall have a watch like your uncle's if you are very good," she added, for Bertha was very fond of watches, and especially of Morgan-Mason's gold repeater. She liked to hear it chime upon its musical bell.

One afternoon a few days later Filomena watched from her window the millionaire descend from his motor and enter the house. First she hurried into the schoolroom, where Bertha was sitting with the maid, and then she leisurely descended to the drawing-room, where she found Mrs Fitzroy and her brother talking together.

"Oh, m'sieur," laughed the governess, "Mademoiselle Bertha saw you arrive, and has sent me to ask a favour."

"A favour!" he exclaimed. "Of course, I always grant the young lady's requests when she asks nicely."

"Mademoiselle wants to know if you will let her hear your watch. Since you showed it to her a fortnight ago she has allowed me no peace. So I promised I would come and ask of you."

"Certainly," was the millionaire's reply, taking his repeater and the gold albert from his pocket. "You know how to make it strike. I showed you the other day," he laughed as he handed it to her.

"I will be ve-ry careful of it, m'sieur, and will bring it back when mademoiselle is satisfied. She desires greatly one like it."

"Some day I'll give her one, when she's older," laughed Morgan-Mason good-humouredly.

And then, when the door had closed behind her, his sister remarked--

"Mademoiselle is most devoted to Bertha. So very different to Miss Gardener. She humours her in every way, and at the same time is a very good teacher. It is really wonderful how the child is improving."

"I quite agree, Maud. She's an excellent girl--and I hope you pay her well. She deserves it."

And then they fell to discussing plans for a big dinner-party at the Carlton on the following Friday.

Meanwhile, mademoiselle ran upstairs with the watch in her hand, first to her own room, where she remained five minutes or so, and then took it to the schoolroom, where she delighted her little pupil by making the watch strike.

"Make it go again, mademoiselle," exclaimed little Bertha, delighted at being allowed to hold it in her hand. And again and again the governess pressed the ring and caused it to chime, until at last she was compelled to take it forcibly from the child's hand and carry it back again to the grey-whiskered man in the drawing-room, returning a word of thanks as she handed it back to him.

That same evening, after her charge had been put to bed, and during Mrs Fitzroy's absence at Lady Claridge's dance, she went out and dropped into the pillar-box at the corner of Grosvenor Square a small packet in a strong linen-lined envelope addressed to "Giuseppe Gallo, Esq., care of H. Bird, Newsagent, 386 Westminster Bridge Road, S.E."

And then she returned to the little sitting-room set apart for her, and smiled confidently to herself as she settled to read the _Tribuna_, which her mother sent her regularly each day.

A week later the household at Brook Street was thrown into a state of agitation and surprise when the vulgarian dashed round in a cab and informed his sister of a most audacious entry made by thieves into his splendid flat at Queen Anne's Mansions, and how they had turned it topsy-turvy. He had, it appeared, been absent, speaking for a parliamentary candidate up at Leicester, and his valet had slept in the flat alone, the other servants being on holiday, when during the night burglars had entered by a window from some leads adjoining, and had opened everything, even to his safe, and had apparently made a minute examination of every private paper he possessed.

He had missed nothing, except a few cigars; but what puzzled the detectives most was the manner in which safe, writing-table, and two chests of drawers, which he always kept locked, had been opened. Either the thieves possessed all the keys--and this did not appear possible, as they were all in the trusted valet's room--or else they possessed a master-key to everything, the same as that which the Member of Parliament wore upon his watch-chain.

The millionaire was furious. He even spoke to the Home Secretary about it when he met him in the lobby of the House. But the manner in which the safe had been opened was a complete mystery--a mystery to all except to mademoiselle.