"Yes," his master admitted. "He's the most resourceful man I've ever known--and I've known a few. We'll take a run up the Pincio and back,"

and, without changing speed, he began to ascend the winding road which leads to the top of the hill.

Up there, they found quite a crowd of people whom Na.s.sington had known the previous season.

Rome was full of life, merriment and gaiety. Carnival had pa.s.sed, and the Pasqua was fast approaching; the time when the Roman season is at its gayest and when the hotels are full. The court receptions and b.a.l.l.s at the Quirinale had brought the Italian aristocracy from the various cities, and the amba.s.sadors were mostly at their posts because of the weekly diplomatic receptions.

Surely it is a strange world--that vain, silly, out-dressing world of Rome, where religion is only the cant of the popular confessor and the scandal of a promenade through St Peter's or San Giovanni.

At the summit of the Pincio Lord Na.s.sington pulled up the car close to the long stone bal.u.s.trade, and as he did so a young Italian elegant, the Marquis Carlo di Rimini, stepped up and seizing his hand, was profuse in his welcome back to Rome.

The Englishman descended from the car, lit one of his eternal "Petroffs," and leaned upon the bal.u.s.trade to chat and learn the latest scandal. The Marquis Carlo and he were fellow members of the Circolo Unione, one of the smartest clubs in Rome, and had played bridge together through many a night.

A whisper had once gone forth that the source of the over-dressed young n.o.ble's income was cards, but Na.s.sington had always given him his due.

He had never caught him cheating, and surely if he had cheated the Englishman would have known it.

As they stood there, gazing across the city below, the sky was aflame in all the crimson glory of the Roman sunset, and even as they spoke the Angelus had, of a sudden, clashed forth from every church tower, the bells clanging discordantly far and near.

It was the hour of the _venti-tre_, but in the city n.o.body cared. The patient toilers in the Campagna, however, the _contadini_ in the fields and in the vineyards who had been working on the brown earth since the dawn, crossed themselves with a murmured prayer to the Madonna and prodded their ox-teams onward. In Rome itself nowadays, alas! the bells of the _venti-tre_ of spring and winter only remind the gay, giddy cosmopolitan crowd that it is the hour for tea in the halls of the hotels, or the English tea-rooms in the Corso.

An hour later, when his lordship entered his room at the Excelsior, he found the Reverend Thomas Clayton seated in his armchair patiently smoking and awaiting him.

"By Jove! old chap. You got through quick," cried his lordship throwing off his coat and cap. "Well?"

"It's a soft thing--that's my opinion, the girl Velia is devilish pretty, and the cousin isn't half bad-looking. I haven't been idle.

Got in at six--an hour late, of course, had a bath and breakfast and out. Saw a dozen people I know before noon, lunched at that little _trattoria_ behind the post office where so many of the Deputies go, and learnt a lot. I'm no stranger here you know--lived here a year once-- did a splendid bit of business, but had to slip. That was the year before we joined our forces."

"Well, what do you know?"

"Boncini, her father is, of course, Minister of the Interior, and a pretty slick customer. Made pots of money, they say, and only keeps in office by bribery. Half the money subscribed by charitable people on behalf of the sufferers from the recent earthquake down in Calabria went into his pocket. He bought a big villa, and fine estate, close to Vallombrosa a month or so afterwards."

His lordship grunted.

"Picks up what he can?" he remarked. "One of us--it seems!"

"Exactly. And to do any business, we'll have to be pretty cute. He's already seen and heard a lot of you, and he knows that you've met his pretty daughter. Perhaps he fancies you'll marry her."

"The only use of marriage to a man, my dear Clayton," exclaimed the devil-may-care adventurer blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke from his lips, "is to enable him to make a settlement upon his wife, and so wriggle from the clutches of his creditors." The Parson laughed.

Regarding the marriage tie his Highness, or "his lordship" rather as he was at that moment called, was always sarcastic.

"Really, old chap, you spread your fame wherever you go. Why, all Rome is talking about this wonderful coup of yours at Monte."

"It was Garrett's idea. He told them down in the garage, and Charles told a lady's maid or two, I think. Such things are quite easy when one starts out upon a big bluff. But if what you've discovered about his Excellency the Minister Boncini is really true, then I shall alter my tactics somewhat. I mean that I must make the dark-haired daughter a stepping-stone to her father."

"With care--my dear fellow," exclaimed the Parson in that calm, clerical drawl habitual to him. "The girl's cousin, Miss Ethel Thorold, is English. The sister of the Signora Boncini married a man on the London Stock Exchange, named Thorold."

"That's awkward," exclaimed his lordship thoughtfully, "upsets my plans."

"But he's dead," the Parson declared. His companion nodded satisfaction.

"Now Miss Ethel is, I've found, a rather religiously inclined young person--all praise to her. So I shall succeed very soon in getting to know her. Indeed, as you've already made her acquaintance you might introduce me as the vicar of some living within your gift."

"Excellent--I will."

"And what's your plans?"

"They're my own secrets at present, Tommy," was the other's quick answer. "You're at the Grand, aren't you? Well, for the present, we must be strangers--till I approach you. Understand?"

"Of course. Give me five hundred francs will you. I'm short?"

His lordship unlocked his heavy steel despatch-box and gave his friend five one-hundred franc notes without a word.

Then they reseated themselves, and with Charles, the faithful valet, leaning against the edge of the table smoking a cigarette with them, their conversation was both interesting and confidential.

A fortnight went by, and Rome was in the middle of her Pasqua _fetes_.

The night was perfect, bright and star-lit.

The great gilded ballroom of the huge old Peruzzi Palace, in the Via n.a.z.ionale, the residence of his Excellency the Minister Boncini, was thronged by a brilliant crowd, among whom Lord Na.s.sington made his way, ever and anon bowing over some woman's hand.

The bright uniforms, the glittering stars and coloured ribbons worn by the men, and the magnificent toilettes of the women combined to form a perfect phantasmagoria of colour beneath the huge crystal electroliers.

The political and social world of Rome had gathered there at the monthly reception of his Excellency, the rather stout grey-bearded man with the broad cerise-and-white ribbon of the Order of the Crown of Italy across his shirt-front, and the diamond star upon his coat. His Lordship strode through the huge painted _salons_ with their heavy gilt mirrors and giant palms, and approached the man of power in that complex nation, modern Italy.

At that moment his Excellency was chatting with the French Amba.s.sador, but on the Englishman's approach he turned to him exclaiming in French:

"Ah! Lord Na.s.sington! I am so pleased you could come. Velia told me of the slight accident to your car yesterday. I hope you were not hurt at all?"

"Oh! no," laughed the debonair young man. "I had perhaps a close shave.

My car is a rather fast one, and I was driving recklessly on the Maremma Road--a sharp turn--and I ran down a bank, that's all. The car will be all right by to-morrow."

"Ah, milord. The automobile is an invention of the future, without a doubt."

"Most certainly. Indeed, as a matter of fact, I thought of making a suggestion to your Excellency--one which I believe would be most acceptable to the Italian nation. But, of course, here it's quite impossible to talk."

"Then come to-morrow morning to my private cabinet at the Ministry--or better still, here to luncheon, and we can chat."

His Lordship expressed his thanks, and then moved off in search of the pretty Velia.

For the greater part of the evening he dangled at the side of the good-looking girl in turquoise chiffon, having several waltzes with her and afterwards strolling out upon the balcony and sitting there beneath the starlight.

"What a charming man your friend Mr Clayton is!" exclaimed the girl in English, as they were sitting together apart from the others. "Papa is delighted with him."

"Oh, yes--a most excellent fellow for a parson," his Lordship laughed, and then their conversation turned upon motors and motoring.

"How is your shoulder this evening?" she inquired.

"Not at all painful," he declared. "It's nearly all right again. The car will be ready for the road to-morrow afternoon. I'm lunching with you here, and I wonder if you and your cousin will come with me for a run out to Tivoli afterwards?"

"I should be delighted," she said. "Our car is only a sixteen `Fiat'

you know, and we never travel faster than a cab. It would be such fun to have a run in your beautiful `sixty'! I don't suppose papa would object."