"Nobody cares a straw for your politics," retorted Volterra rudely.

"Then I shall be the more free to think as I please," Malipieri answered with calm.

"Perfectly so. In the meantime it is not the Ministry of the Interior that is watching you. The present Ministry does not waste time and money on such nonsense. You are being watched because you are suspected of trying to get some statues or pictures out of Italy, in defiance of the Pacca law."

"Oh!" Malipieri blew a whiff of smoke out with the ejaculation, for he was surprised.

"I have it from one of the cabinet," Volterra continued. "He told me the facts confidentially after dinner. You see, as you are living in my house, the suspicion is reflected on me."

"In your house?"

"The Palazzo Conti is my house," answered the Baron, taking his cigar from his mouth for the first time since he had lighted it, and holding it out at arm's length with a possessive sweep while he leaned back and looked at the ceiling again. "It all belongs to me," he said. "I took it for the mortgage, with everything in it."

"By the bye," said Malipieri, "what became of that Velasquez, and those other pictures?"

"Was there a Velasquez?" enquired the Baron carelessly, without changing his attitude.

"Yes. It was famous all over Europe. It was a family portrait."

"I remember! It turned out to be a copy after all."

"A copy!" repeated Malipieri incredulously.

"Yes, the original is in Madrid," answered the Baron with imperturbable self-possession.

"And all those other pictures turned out to be copies, too, I daresay," suggested Malipieri.

"Every one of them. It was a worthless collection."

"In that case it was hardly worth while to take so much trouble in getting them out of the country secretly." Malipieri smiled.

"That was the dealer's affair," answered Volterra without the least hesitation. "Dealers are such fools! They always make a mystery of everything."

Malipieri could not help admiring the proportions and qualities of the Baron's lies. The financier was well aware that Malipieri knew the pictures to be genuine beyond all doubt. The disposal of them had been well managed, for when Malipieri moved into the palace there was not a painting of value left on the walls, yet there had been no mention of them in the newspapers, nor any gossip about them, and the public at large believed them to be still in their places. As a matter of fact most of them were already in France and England, and the Velasquez was in Saint Petersburg.

"I understand why you are anxious that the Palazzo Conti should not be watched just now," Malipieri said. "For my part, as I do not believe in your government, I cannot be expected to believe in its laws. It is not my business whether you respect them yourselves or not."

"Who is breaking the law?" asked the Baron roughly. "It is absurd to talk in that way. But as the government has taken it into its head to suspect that you do, it is not advisable for me, who am a staunch supporter of the government, to see too much of you. I am sure you must understand that--it is so simple."

"In other words?" Malipieri looked at him coldly, waiting for an explanation.

"I cannot afford to have it said that you are living in the palace for the purpose of helping dealers to smuggle objects of art out of the country. That is what I mean."

"I see. But what objects of art do you mean, since you have already sent away everything there was?"

"It is believed that you had something to do with that ridiculous affair of the copies," said Volterra, his voice suddenly becoming oily.

"They were gone when I moved in."

"I daresay they were. But it would be hard to prove, and of course the people who bought the pictures from the dealer insist that they are genuine, so that there may be trouble some day, and you may be annoyed about the things if you stay here any longer."

"You mean that you advise me to leave Rome. Is that it?" Malipieri now spoke with the utmost indifference, and glanced carelessly at the end of his cigar as he knocked the ash into the gold cup at his side.

"You certainly cannot stay any longer in the palace," Volterra said, in an advisory and deprecatory tone.

"You seem to be badly frightened," observed Malipieri. "I really cannot see why I should change my quarters until we have finished what we are doing."

"I am afraid you will have to go. You are looked upon as very 'suspicious.' It would not be so bad, if your servant had not been a convict."

"How do you know that?" Malipieri asked with sudden sternness.

"Everything of that sort is known to the police," answered Volterra, whose manner had become very mild. "Of course you have your own reasons for employing such a person."

"He is an innocent man, who was unjustly convicted."

"Oh, indeed! Poor fellow! Those things happen sometimes, I know. It is more than kind of you to employ him. Nevertheless, you cannot help seeing that the association of ideas is unfortunate and gives a bad impression. The man was never proved to be innocent, and when he had served his term, he was involved as your servant in your political escapade. You do not mind my speaking of that matter lightly? It is the safest way to look at it, is it not? Yes. The trouble is that you and your man are both on the black book, and since the affair has come to the notice of the government my colleagues are naturally surprised that you should both be living in a house that belongs to me."

"You can explain to your colleagues that you have let the apartment in the palace to me, and that as I pay my rent regularly you cannot turn me out without notice." Malipieri smiled indifferently.

"Surely," said the Baron, affecting some surprise, "if I ask you, as a favour, to move somewhere else, you will do so!"

To tell the truth, he was not prepared for Malipieri's extreme forbearance, for he had expected an outbreak of temper, at the least, and he still feared a positive refusal. Instead, the young man did not seem to care a straw.

"Of course," he said, "if you ask it as a favour, I cannot refuse.

When should you like me to go?"

"You are really too kind!" The Baron was genuinely delighted and almost grateful--as near to feeling gratitude, perhaps, as he had ever been in his life. "I should hate to hurry you," he continued. "But really, since you are so very good, I think the sooner you can make it convenient to move, the better it will be for every one."

"I could not manage to pack my books and drawings so soon as to- morrow," said Malipieri.

"Oh, no! certainly not! By all means take a couple of days about it. I could not think of putting you to any inconvenience."

"Thanks." Malipieri smiled pleasantly. "If I cannot get off by the day after to-morrow, I shall certainly move the day after that."

"I am infinitely obliged. And now that this unpleasant matter is settled, owing to your wonderful amiability, do tell me how the work is proceeding."

"Fairly well," Malipieri answered. "You had better come and see for yourself before I go. Let me see. To-morrow I shall have to look about for a lodging. Could you come the day after to-morrow? Then we can go down together."

"How far have you got?" asked Volterra, with a little less interest than might have been expected.

"I am positively sure that there is an inner chamber, where I expected to find it," Malipieri answered, with perfect truth. "Perhaps we can get into it when you come."

"I hope so," said the Baron, watching the other's face from the corner of his eye.

"I have made a curious discovery in the course of the excavation,"

Malipieri continued. "The pillar of masonry which you showed me is hollow after all. It was the shaft of an oubliette which must have opened somewhere in the upper part of the house. There is a well under it."

"Full of water?"