Happily he had been at a meeting in the Tribunale Publico when the prince was arrested, and, as an important official and a great personal friend of Sansevero’s, had hurried to inform the princess what had happened, and to place himself at her service.  The case was very serious not only because of the evidence against the prince, but because of the lofty way in which the latter had replied some weeks previously to an inquiry from the Ministero.  Sansevero said his Raphael was in the possession of the Duke Scorpa, but the duke, who had been chiefly instrumental in discovering the sale of the picture, was unable to shield his friend.  Sansevero was questioned again, and refused to say anything more.  He had answered once, and that, in his opinion, was sufficient for a gentleman.

The government thereupon had sent a representative to the Scorpa palace, where Sansevero averred the picture was.  The duke’s servants were catechised, but none had ever seen it.  To add to the complication, the duke was far too ill to be questioned further, and Sansevero was at present injuring the case by making every moment more and more confused statements about his alleged transaction with Scorpa.  First he said he had loaned it—­because Torre Sansevero was cold; then that he had sold it for one hundred thousand lire; then that no money was received; then that he had let the duke have it as security, and that there was an agreement whereby he was to get his picture back.  When he was asked to show a receipt in writing, he went into a rage.

The princess, quick enough to see the treachery of Scorpa and the net of circumstantial evidence that he had thrown about them, felt utterly helpless.  “It is true, even I did not actually see the duke take the picture,” she said, “and I am the only one who knew anything about it.  As Sandro’s wife—­my word will have no weight at all!”

Valdeste solemnly shook his head.  “I fear it is graver than that—­for even Miss Randolph’s word that she had made certain unusual expenditures would not be believed.  The picture might too easily have been sold and paid for through her.  Unless it can be produced here in Italy, the end may be bad.  Somehow we must find a way to do that.”

Nina was getting every moment more and more nervous—­she could not understand Derby’s delay.  Why did he not come?  Since she telephoned, he could have covered the distance from the Excelsior half a dozen times.  Every second of glancing at the door seemed a minute, and the minutes hours.  After the disillusionments she had suffered she actually was beginning to think that he, too, would fail her in the crucial moment, when, at last, the portieres parted, and Derby entered carrying—­the celebrated Sansevero Madonna!

The princess and the marchese were so astonished that only Nina seemed to notice Derby himself.  With a cry of “Jack! How did you do it?” she sprang up, staring at him in bewilderment.