IVANOFF [in a voice that lifts, almost cracks, with sudden hope].  An American?

PIKE.  They haven’t made me anything else yet.

IVANOFF [swinging himself down to the ground].  Thank God for that!

[He leans against the car, exhausted.]

PIKE.  I do.  What makes you so glad about it?

IVANOFF.  Because I have suffered in the cause your own forefathers gave their lives for.  I am a Russian political fugitive, and I can go no farther.  If you give me up I shall not be taken alive.  I have no weapon, but I can find a way to cut my throat.

PIKE [with humorous incredulity].  Are you the bandit they’re lookin’ for?

IVANOFF.  They call me that.  Do I look like a bandit?

PIKE.  How close are they?

IVANOFF [with despairing gesture].  There!

PIKE.  Did they see you climb that wall?

IVANOFF.  I think not.

[There comes a loud ringing at the gates.  At the sound IVANOFF starts violently, throwing one arm up as if to shield his face from a blow.]

IVANOFF.  Oh, my God! it is they!

[He staggers back against the machine.]

PIKE [hastily stripping off his working blouse].  Do you know anything about gear-box plugs?

[The ringing continues.]

IVANOFF.  Nothing in the world.

PIKE.  Then you’re a chauffeur. [Puts blouse on him.] Take a look at this one. [With emphatic significance.] It’s underneath the machine.

[Quickly sets his hands on IVANOFF’S shoulders, having forced the blouse on him, and pushes him beneath the car.]

MARIANO [within the hotel, calling].  Subito!  Subito!  Vengo, Signore! 
Vengo!

[PIKE at same time rapidly wipes his hands on a rag, puts on his hat, cuffs, and coat, which have been lying on the seat.]

MARIANO [running on, flustered].  Corpo de St. Costanzo!  Non posso essere dapertutto allo stesso tempo.  Vengo, vengo!

[He hastens to the gates with his key, unfastening busily.  Meanwhile PIKE lights a cigar.]

MARIANO.  Ecco! [Throws open gates and falls back in astonishment.] Dio mio!

[Two carabiniere, good-looking, soldierly men in the carabiniere uniform, cocked hats, white cross-belts, etc., are disclosed, their carbines slung over their arms, their long cloaks thrown back.  Behind the carabiniere stand some fishermen in red caps, dirty flannel shirts, and trousers rolled up to the knee; also a few ragged beggars.]

FIRST CARABINIERE [as gate is opened].  Buon giorno!

[The two carabiniere enter briskly.]

MARIANO. [springing forward and closing gate, calling to crowd outside]. 
No, no!

FIRST CARABINIERE.  Ceerchimo l’assassino Russo.

MARIANO.  Dio mio!  Non nell’ Albergo Regina Margherita.

SECOND CARABINIERE [coming to PIKE].  Avete visto un uomo scavalcare il muro?