person, and though it might be a little eccentric, according to the Baroness’s view, for Sabina to go out with him in a cab, especially in the afternoon, there could really be no great harm in it.  The Baroness would be angry because she had stayed out so late.  The Baroness would be much angrier by and by, when she knew what had really happened, and it must all be known, of course.  When Sassi was sure that Masin could not get the two out of the vault himself, or with such ordinary help as he could procure, he would have to go to the Baron, who would instantly inform the authorities, and bring an engineer and a crowd of masons to break a way.  There was some comfort in that, after all.  It was quite impossible that she and Malipieri should be left to starve to death.

Besides, she was not at all hungry, though it was dinner time.  She was only cold and sleepy.  She wished she could take the crowbar from Malipieri’s hands and use it for a few minutes, just to warm herself.  He had said that he was too hot, and by the uncertain light she fancied she could see a little moisture on his white forehead.

She was right in that, for he was growing tired and knew that before long he must rest for at least a quarter of an hour.  The hole was now three feet deep or more, yet no hollow sound came back from, the blows he dealt.  His arms were beginning to ache, and he began to count the strokes.  He would strike a hundred more, and then he would rest.  He kept up the effort steadily to the end, and then laid down the bar and passed his handkerchief over his forehead.  Sabina watched him and looked up into his face when he turned to her.

“You are tired,” she said, rising and standing beside him, so as to speak more easily.

“I shall be quite rested in a few minutes,” he answered, “and then I will go on.”

“You must be very strong,” said Sabina.

Then she told him what she had been thinking of, and how it was certain that the Baron would bring a large force of men to set them free.  Malipieri listened to the end, and nodded thoughtfully.  She was right, supposing that nothing had happened to Sassi and Masin; but he knew his own man, and judged that he must have made some desperate attempt to stop the inflowing water in the outer chamber, and it was not impossible that poor old Sassi, in his devotion to Sabina, had made a mad effort to help Masin, and that they had both lost their lives together.  If that had happened, there was no one to tell Volterra where Sabina was.  Enquiries at Sassi’s house would be useless; all that could be known would be that he had gone out between four and five o’clock, that he had called at the house in the Via Ludovisi, and that he and Sabina had driven away together.  No doubt, in time, the police could find the cab they had taken, and the cabman would remember that they had paid him at the Palazzo Conti.  But all that would take a long time.  The porter knew nothing