Giovanni laughed aloud “Ecco! Sandro, he consents!”

CHAPTER XV

AN OPPOSITION BOOTH IS SET UP IN THE MARKET PLACE

While Sansevero and Giovanni were in their imaginations refurbishing their escutcheon, two other men, with the opposite intent, stood on the front steps of the agency of “Thomas Cook and Sons.”  One was proclaimed by the regulation “Cook’s” badge on his cap to be a guide; the other, by his military cloak, might have been recognized as an official of the Italian government.  Both had shown covert interest in the Princess Sansevero, who, looking particularly lovely in her magnificent set of sables, had crossed the sidewalk with the light, buoyant carriage characteristic of her.

“There, you may see for yourself if it is I who speak the truth.”  This was said by the guide.

The official looked at him askance as he drew his bushy brows together and pulled at his beard.  “I confess it looks serious—­and strongly favors your supposition.”

“But what else?  It is as plain as the nose on your face, I should say!  At Torre Sansevero they have been living on next to nothing—­my cousin is cook, and I know that every soldo is counted.  They come to Rome and spend their savings.  You will say they have done that for years; but tell me this, should their savings in this year treble the savings of other years?”

Triumphantly he looked at his companion and, throwing back his head, put his hands on his hips.  Then, with a return to his confidential manner, he laid his finger against his nose.  “I know it for a fact,” he continued—­“Luigi heard it at the key-hole—­that their excellencies contemplated staying at Torre Sansevero all this winter!  Her excellency had the look—­Maria, the maid, told the servants that much—­that her excellency always has when signore, the prince, has cut the strings and left the purse empty.”

“Furthermore?” The official twirled his mustache with an air of incredulity.

“Furthermore, the great Raphael disappears!  Her excellency’s renovation story was a little weak for my digestion, and, unless my eyes played me false, she was well frightened.  I’ll take my oath she was at a loss what to answer.”

“You say you taxed her with it?”

“As I told you.  She answered that the picture was being renovated.  An answer for an idiot—­the picture is one of the best canvases extant; in perfect repair.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Partially.  I am sure she saw my suspicion.”

“I should doubt her carrying out the sale after that.  There is where your story fails.”

“Ah, but it had already gone!  It was perhaps by then in the house of a foreign millionaire.  No, no, my story hangs together:  The great picture disappears!  A month later—­time exactly for its arrival in America and the payment for it to be sent over here—­her excellency of no money comes out in such a motor-car as that!  And sables!  I have an eye for furs.  My father was in the business.  The value of those she has on runs easily into the seventy or eighty thousand lire.  Here she comes now, out of the banker’s where American money is most often paid!  Do you want better evidence?”