“Signor Prefetto,” quoth the licentiate, “I have not the honour of being known to you.  My name is Giocanto Castriconi, better known as the Padre.  Aha, it’s coming back to you!  The signorina here, whom I have not the pleasure of knowing either, has sent to ask me to supply some information about a fellow of the name of Tomaso Bianchi, with whom I chanced to be shut up, about three weeks ago, in the prison at Bastia.  This is what I have to tell you.”

“Spare yourself the trouble,” said the prefect.  “I can not listen to anything from such a man as you.  Signor della Rebbia, I am willing to believe you have had nothing to do with this detestable plot.  But are you master in your own house?  Will you have the door opened?  Your sister may have to give an account of the strange relations in which she lives with a set of bandits.”

“Signor Prefetto!” cried Colomba, “I beseech you to listen to what this man has to say!  You are here to do justice to everybody, and it is your duty to search out the truth.  Speak, Giocanto Castriconi!”

“Don’t listen to him,” chorused the three Barricini.

“If everybody talks at once,” remarked the bandit, with a smile, “nobody can contrive to hear what anybody says.  Well, in the prison at Bastia I had as my companion—­not as my friend—­this very man, Tomaso.  He received frequent visits from Signor Orlanduccio.”

“You lie!” shouted the two brothers together.

“Two negatives make an affirmative,” pursued Castriconi coolly.  “Tomaso had money, he ate and drank of the best.  I have always been fond of good cheer (that’s the least of my failings), and in spite of my repugnance to rubbing shoulders with such a wretch, I let myself be tempted, several times over, into dining with him.  Out of gratitude, I proposed he should escape with me.  A young person—­to whom I had shown some kindness—­had provided me with the necessary means.  I don’t intend to compromise anybody.  Tomaso refused my offer, telling me he was certain to be all right, as lawyer Barricini had spoken to all the judges for him, and he was sure to get out of prison with a character as white as snow, and with money in his pocket, too.  As for me, I thought it better to get into the fresh air. Dixi.”

“Everything that fellow has said is a heap of lies,” reiterated Orlanduccio stoutly.  “If we were in the open country, and each of us had his gun, he wouldn’t talk in that way.”

“Here’s a pretty folly!” cried Brandolaccio.  “Don’t you quarrel with the Padre, Orlanduccio!”

“Will you be good enough to allow me to leave this room, Signor della Rebbia,” said the prefect, and he stamped his foot in his impatience.

“Saveria!  Saveria!” shouted Orso, “open the door, in the devil’s name!”

“One moment,” said Brandolaccio.  “We have to slip away first, on our side.  Signor Prefetto, the custom, when people meet in the house of a mutual friend, is to allow each other half an hour’s law, after departure.”