“Yes, I understand,” I said.  “But come out into the street.  I don’t wish to speak before these people.  Your padrone knows Italian, no doubt.”

“Ah! only a very little,” he answered, smiling.  “Have no fear of him.”

“But there is Emilio, the cook?”

“Then you have met him!” he exclaimed quickly, with a strange look of apprehension.  “He is an undesirable person, signore.”

“So I gather,” I answered.  “But I desire to speak to you outside—­not here.”  And then turning with a smile to the Pole, I apologized for taking away his servant for a few minutes.  “Recollect, I am his old master, I added.”

“Of course, m’sieur,” answered the Pole, bowing politely.  “Speak with him where and how long you will.  He is entirely at your service.”

And when we were outside in Westbourne Grove, Olinto walking by my side in wonderment, I asked suddenly: 

“Tell me.  Have you ever been in Scotland—­at Dumfries?”

“Never, signore, in my life.  Why?”

“Answer me another question,” I said quickly.  “You married Armida at the Italian Consulate.  Where is she now—­where is she this morning?”

He turned pale, and I saw a complete change in his countenance.

“Ah, signore!” he responded, “I only wish I could tell.”

“It is untrue that she is an invalid,” I went on, “or that you live in Lambeth.  Your address is in Albany Road, Camberwell.  You can’t deny these facts.”

“I do not deny them, Signor Commendatore.  But how did you learn this?”

“The authorities in Italy know everything,” I answered.  “Like that of all your countrymen, your record is written down at the Commune.”

“It is a clean one, at any rate, signore,” he declared with some slight warmth.  “I have a permesso to carry a revolver, which is in itself sufficient proof that I am a man of spotless character.”

“I cast no reflection whatever upon you, Olinto,” I answered.  “I have merely inquired after your wife, and you do not give me a direct reply.”

We had walked to the Royal Oak, and stood talking on the curb outside.

“I give you no reply, because I can’t,” he said in Italian.  “Armida—­my poor Armida—­has left home.”

“Why did you tell me such a tale of distress regarding her?”

“As I have already explained, signore, I was not then master of my own actions.  I was ruled by others.  But I saved your life at risk of my own.  Some day, when it is safe, I will reveal to you everything.”

“Let us allow the past to remain,” I said.  “Where is your wife now?”

He hesitated a moment, looking straight into my face.

“Well, Signor Commendatore, to tell the truth, she has disappeared.”

“Disappeared!” I echoed.  “And have you not made any report to the police?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“For reasons known only to myself I did not wish the police to pry into my private affairs.”