“What do you wish from me?” asked Nino, who was not much moved after the first surprise.

“We regret to say,” answered the man in plain clothes, “that we are here to arrest you.”

“May I inquire on what charge?” I asked.  “But first let me fill your glasses.  Dry throats make surly answers, as the proverb says.”  They drank.  It chanced that the wine was good, being from my own vineyard,—­my little vineyard that I bought outside of Porta Salara,—­and the men were cold and wet, for it was raining.

“Well,” said the man who had spoken before,—­he was clean-shaved and fat, and he smacked his lips over the wine,—­“It is not our way to answer questions.  But since you are so civil, I will tell you that you are arrested on suspicion of having poisoned that Russian baroness, with the long name, at whose house you have been so intimate.”

“Poisoned?  The baroness poisoned?  Is she very ill, then?” asked Nino, in great alarm.

“She is dead,” said the fat mat, wiping his mouth and twisting the empty glass in his hand.

“Dead!” cried Nino and I together.

“Dead—­yes; as dead as St. Peter,” he answered, irreverently.  “Your wine is good, Signor Professore.  Yes, I will take another glass—­and my men, too.  Yes, she was found dead this morning, lying in her bed.  You were there yesterday, Signor Cardegna, and her servant says he saw you giving her something in a glass of water.”  He drank a long draught from his glass.  “You would have done better to give her some of this wine, my friend.  She would certainly be alive to-day.”  But Nino was dark and thoughtful.  He must have been pained and terribly shocked at the sudden news, of course, but he did not admire her as I did.

“Of course this thing will soon be over,” he said at last.  “I am very much grieved to hear of the lady’s death, but it is absurd to suppose that I was concerned in it, however it happened.  She fainted suddenly in the morning when I was there, and I gave her some water to drink, but there was nothing in it.”  He clasped his hands on his knee, and looked much distressed.

“It is quite possible that you poisoned her,” remarked the fat man, with annoying indifference.  “The servant says he overheard high words between you—­”

“He overheard?” cried Nino, springing to his feet.  “Cursed beast, to listen at the door!” He began to walk about excitedly, “How long is this affair to keep me?” he asked, suddenly; “I have to sing to-night—­and that poor lady lying there dead—­oh, I cannot!”

“Perhaps you will not be detained more than a couple of hours,” said the fat man.  “And perhaps you will be detained until the Day of Judgment,” he added, with a sly wink at the gendarmes, who laughed obsequiously.  “By this afternoon, the doctors will know of what she died; and if there was no poison, and she died a natural death, you can go to the theatre and sing, if you have the stomach.  I would, I am sure.  You see, she is a great lady, and the people of her embassy are causing everything to be done very quickly.  If you had poisoned that old lady who brought us this famous wine a minute ago, you might have had to wait till next year, innocent or guilty.”  It struck me that the wine was producing its effect.