The Day of Temptation. Le Queux William

my dear fellow – bitter enemies – in Florence, and as far as I can discern, there’s absolutely no way of propitiating them. We are, as you know, actually within an ace of success, yet this girl can upset all our plans, and make English soil too sultry for us ever to tread it again.” A second time he glanced around his comfortable dining-room, and sighed at the thought of having to fly from that quiet rural spot where he had so ingeniously hidden himself.

      “It was to tell me this, I suppose, that you wired this morning?” his guest said.

      The other nodded, adding, “I had a letter last night from Paolo. He has seen Vittorina at Livorno. She’s there for the sea-bathing.”

      “What did she say?”

      “That she intended to travel straight to London.”

      “She gave him no reason, I suppose?” Arnoldo asked anxiously.

      “Can we not easily guess the reason?” the Doctor replied. “If you reflect upon the events of that memorable night, you will at once recognise that she should be prevented from coming to this country.”

      “Yes. You are right,” Romanelli observed in a tone of conviction. “I see it all. We are in peril. Vittorina must not come.”

      “Then the next point to consider is how we can prevent her,” the Doctor said.

      A silence, deep and complete, fell between them. The trees rustled, the clock ticked slowly and solemnly, and the nightingale filled the air with its sweet note.

      “The only way out of the difficulty that I can see is for me to hazard everything, return to Livorno, and endeavour by some means to compel her to remain in Italy.”

      “But can you?”

      Romanelli shrugged his shoulders. “There is a risk, of course, but I’ll do my best,” he answered. “If I fail – well, then the game’s up, and you must fly.”

      “I would accompany you to Italy,” exclaimed the other, “but, as you are aware, beyond Modane the ground is too dangerous.”

      “Do you think they suspect anything at the Embassy?”

      “I cannot tell. I called the other day when in London, and found the Ambassador quite as cordial as usual.”

      “But if he only knew the truth?”

      “He can only know through Vittorina,” answered the Doctor quickly. “If she remains in Italy, he will still be in ignorance. The Ministry at Rome knows nothing, but her very presence here will arouse suspicion.”

      “Then I’ll risk all, and go to Italy,” said the younger man decisively. “I don’t relish that long journey from Paris to Pisa this weather. Thirty-five hours is too long to be cramped up in that horribly stuffy sleeping-car.”

      “If you go, you must start to-morrow, and travel straight through,” urged the Doctor earnestly. “Don’t break your journey, or she may have started before you reach Livorno.”

      “Very well,” his young companion answered. “I’ll go right through, as you think it best. If I start from here at six to-morrow morning, I shall be in Livorno on Monday morning. Shall I wire to Paolo?”

      “No. Take him by surprise. You’ll have a far better chance of success,” urged the other; and, pushing the decanter towards him, added, “Help yourself, and let’s drink luck to your expedition.”

      Romanelli obeyed, and both men, raising their glasses, saluted each other in Italian. The younger man no longer wore the air of gay recklessness habitual to him, but took a gulp of the drink with a forced harsh laugh. In the eyes of the usually merry village doctor there was also an expression of doubt and fear. Romanelli was too absorbed in contemplating the risk of returning to Italy to notice the strange sinister expression which for a single instant settled upon his companion’s face, otherwise he might not have been so ready to adopt all his suggestions. Upon the countenance of Doctor Malvano was portrayed at that moment an evil passion, and the strange glint in his eyes would in itself have been sufficient proof to the close observer that he intended playing his companion false.

      “Then you’ll leave Seaton by the six-thirty, eh?” he inquired at last.

      Romanelli nodded.

      The Doctor touched the gong, and the maid entered. “Fletcher,” he said, “the Signore must be called at half-past five to-morrow. Tell Goodwin to have the trap ready to go to Seaton Station to catch the six-thirty.”

      The maid withdrew, and when the door had closed, Malvano, his elbows on the table, his cold gaze fixed upon his guest, suddenly asked in a low, intense voice, “Arnoldo, in this affair we must have no secrets from each other. Tell me the truth. Do you love Vittorina?” The foppish young man started slightly, but quickly recovering himself, answered —

      “Of course not. What absurd fancy causes you to suggest that?”

      “Well – she is very pretty, you know,” the Doctor observed ambiguously.

      The young man looked sharply at his host. “You mean,” he said, “that I might make love to her, and thus prevent her from troubling us, eh?”

      The other nodded in the affirmative, adding, “You might even marry her.”

      At that instant the maid entered, bearing a telegram which a lad on a cycle had brought from Uppingham for the Doctor’s guest. The latter opened it, glanced at its few faintly-written words, then frowned and placed it in his pocket without comment.

      “Bad news?” inquired Malvano. “You look a bit scared.”

      “Not at all; not at all,” he laughed. “Merely a little affair of the heart, that’s all;” and he laughed in a happy, self-satisfied way. Arnoldo was fond of the society of the fair sex, therefore the Doctor, shrewd and quick of observation, was fully satisfied that the message was from one or other of his many feminine acquaintances.

      “Well, induce Vittorina to believe that you love her, and all will be plain sailing,” he said. “You are just the sort of fellow who can fascinate a woman and compel her to act precisely as you wish. Exert on her all the powers you possess.”

      “I’m afraid it will be useless,” his companion answered in a dry, hopeless tone.

      “Bah! Your previous love adventures have already shown you to be a past-master in the arts of flattery and flirtation. Make a bold bid for fortune, my dear fellow, and you’re bound to succeed. Come, let’s take a turn across the lawn; it’s too warm indoors to-night.” Romanelli uttered no word, but rose at his host’s bidding, and followed him out. He felt himself staggering, but, holding his breath, braced himself up, and, struggling, managed to preserve an appearance of outward calm. How, he wondered, would Doctor Malvano act if he knew the amazing information which had just been conveyed to him? He drew a deep breath, set his lips tight, and shuddered.

      Chapter Two

      The Silver Greyhound

      On the same night as the Doctor and his guest were dining in the remote rural village, the express which had left Paris at midday was long overdue at Charing Cross. Presently a troop of porters assembled and folded their arms to gossip, Customs officers appeared, and at last the glaring headlights of the express were seen slowly crossing the bridge which spans the Thames. Within a couple of minutes all became bustle and confusion. The pale faces and disordered appearance of alighting passengers told plainly how rough had been the passage from Calais. Many were tweed-coated tourists returning from Switzerland or the Rhine, but there were others who, by their calm, unruffled demeanour, were unmistakably experienced travellers.

      Among the latter was a smart, military-looking man of not more than thirty-three, tall, dark, and slim, with a merry face a trifle bronzed, and a pair of dark eyes beaming with good humour. As he alighted from a first-class carriage he held up his hand and secured a hansom standing by, then handed out his companion, a well-dressed girl of about twenty-two, whose black eyes and hair, rather aquiline features and sun-browned skin, were sufficient evidence that she was a native of the South. Her dress, of some dark blue material, bore the stamp of the first-class