“I go,” he said.  “Will you tell the Signor Giovanni that his father is coming home?”

Pasquale grinned again.  He was rarely in such a pleasant humour.

“Certainly not,” he answered.  “The Signor Giovanni is very busy, and has given strict orders that he is not to be disturbed on any account.”

“That is your affair,” said the gondolier, hurrying away.

CHAPTER XIX

A little more than an hour later, the gondola came back and stopped alongside the steps of the house.  The gondolier had made such haste to obey the summons that he had not thought of going into the house to give the servants warning, and as most of the shutters were already drawn together against the heat, no one had been looking out when he went away.  He had asked Pasquale to tell the young master, and that was all that could be expected of him.  There was therefore great surprise in the household when Angelo Beroviero went up the steps of his house, and his own astonishment that no one should be there to receive him was almost as great.  The gondolier explained, and told him what Pasquale had said.

It was enough to rouse the old man’s suspicions at once.  He had left Zorzi in charge of the laboratory, enjoining upon him not to encourage Giovanni to go there; but now Giovanni was shut up there, presumably with Zorzi, and had given orders that he was not to be disturbed.  The gondolier had not dared to say anything about the Dalmatian’s arrest, and Beroviero was quite ignorant of all that had happened.  He was not a man who hesitated when his suspicions or his temper were at work, and now he turned, without even entering his home, and crossed the bridge to the glass-house.  Pasquale was looking through the grating and saw him coming, and was ready to receive him at the open door.  For the third time on that morning, he grinned from ear to ear.  Beroviero was pleased by the silent welcome of his old and trusted servant.

“You seem glad to see me again,” he said, laying his hand kindly on the old porter’s arm as he passed in.

“Others will be glad, too,” was the answer.

As he went down the corridor Beroviero heard the sound of spades striking into the earth and shovelling it away.  The gardener and his lad had been at work nearly two hours, and had turned up most of the earth in the little flower-beds to a depth of two or three feet during that time, while Giovanni sat motionless under the plane-tree, watching every movement of their spades.  He rose nervously when he heard footsteps in the corridor, for he did not wish any one to find him seated there, apparently watching a most commonplace operation with profound interest.  He had made a step towards the door of the laboratory, when he saw his father emerge from the dark passage.  He was a coward, and he trembled from head to foot, his teeth chattered in his head, and the cold sweat moistened his forehead in an instant.  The old man stood still four or five paces from him and looked from him to the men who had been digging.  On seeing the master they stopped working and pulled off their knitted caps.  As a further sign of respect they wiped their dripping faces with their shirt sleeves.