Then, again, as to the real fact of Paolina’s innocence, Manutoli was seriously disposed to think that there might be grounds for considerable doubt.  Ludovico’s assertions to that effect were of course unworthy of the slightest attention; the mere ravings of a man in love.  Of course, also, the menace he held out, that if any attempt were made to throw the onus of the crime on Paolina, he would meet it by avowing himself guilty, was as entirely to be disregarded.  The paramount business in hand was to clear his friend of this untoward complication in the matter of the crime which had so mysteriously been committed.  The next consideration was to set him equally free from his entanglement with Paolina.  And with these thoughts in his mind, the Baron decided that, upon the whole, it would be better that he should have an interview with lawyer Fortini, before making his visit to the lady.

He knew that it was too late to look for the lawyer at his “studio;” and therefore went directly to his residence, where he found the old gentleman just concluding his solitary supper.  Being the evening of Ash Wednesday, the meal had consisted of a couple of eggs, and a morsel of tunny fish preserved in oil, very far from a bad relish for a flask of good wine.  And the lawyer was, when Manutoli came in, aiding his meditations by discussing the remaining half of a small cobwebbed bottle of the very choicest growth of the Piedmontese hills.

“I owe you a thousand apologies, Signor Fortini, for coming to trouble you with business, and very disagreeable business too, here and at such an hour,” began the Baron; “but the interest we all feel—­”

“Not a word of apology is needed, Signor Barone.  About this shocking affair in the Pineta, of course, of course?  Pur troppo, we are all interested, as you say.  Will you honour my poor house, Signor Barone, by tasting what there is in the cellar?  I ought to be ashamed to offer this wine, my ordinary drink at supper, to the Barone Manutoli”—­(the old fellow knew right well that there was not such another glass of wine in all the city, and that it was rarely enough that his noble guest drank such)—­“but it is drinkable.”  And so saying, he called to his old housekeeper to bring another bottle and a fresh glass before he would allow Manutoli to say a word on the business that brought him there.

“And now, Signor Barone,” said the old lawyer, as soon as the wine and the praise it merited, had been both duly savoured, “about this bad business?  Do you bring me any information?  Information is all we want.  I hope and trust information is all we want,” he repeated, looking hard at the Baron.

“Of course, that is all we want; information which should put us on some clue to the real perpetrator of this crime.”

“That is what we want; that is the one thing needful; and it is absolutely needful,” said the lawyer, again looking meaningly in his companion’s face.