The old lawyer started up from his seat, and thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers took a hasty turn across the room; and then resuming his seat, tossed off a glass of wine before making any reply.

“And a very good theory too, Signor Barone.  I make you my compliment on it,” he said at last.  “I was not aware of all the facts, the very, important facts, you mention.  I had ascertained that this Venetian girl left the city by the Porta Nuova at a strangely early hour this morning; and that was enough already, to fix my eye upon her.  But what you now tell me is much more important; advances the case against her to a far more serious point.  Upon my word,” continued the lawyer, after a pause for further meditation; “upon my word I begin to think that it is the most likely view of the case that this Signorina Paolina Foscarelli has been the assassin.  At all events it seems quite as likely a theory as that the Marchese should have done it.  Fully as likely,” added the lawyer, rubbing his hands cheerily; “the motive, as motives to such deeds go, is quite as great in her case as in his.  Greater, or at least more probable!  Jealousy has moved to such acts more frequently than mere considerations of interest.”

“To be sure it has,” cried Manutoli; “I think that the circumstances bear more conclusively against her than against him; I do, upon my life.”

“If only something do not turn up to show that it could not have been done by her, I think—­I do think that we have got all that is absolutely necessary for us.  For observe, Signor Barone, it is not necessary that she should be convicted.  If there is such a probability that she may have been the criminal as to make it impossible to say that it is far more likely that one of the parties suspected should be guilty than the other, there can be no conviction, and our friend is safe.”

“But I say that all the probabilities are in favour of the hypothesis that she did the deed,” cried Manutoli, warmly.

“Much will depend on the report of Tomosarchi,” said the lawyer.  “The inquiry arises, how far it was possible for a young girl to do that which was done.”

“It is evident that she was murdered in her sleep,” observed the Baron.

“It looks like it; it seems clear that there could have been no struggle of any sort.  Still, we must hear how the murder was done; we must know whether the means were such as might have been in the power of this girl,” rejoined Fortini.

“Well, we shall know all that to-morrow.  God grant that the Professor’s report may be a favourable one,” said Manutoli, thinking little of the savageness of his wish as regarded the poor artist.  But, to the mind of the Baron, it was a question between one who was a fellow-creature of his own, and one who could hardly be considered such.  How was it possible to put in comparison for a moment the consideration of a fellow-noble of his own city and that of a poor unknown foreign artist?