“It was about five o’clock,” he answered quietly.

“And when did you come back?” enquired the detective.

“It was dusk.  It was after Ave Maria, for I heard the bells ringing before I got here.”

“And you did not notice the blood on the stones when you came in, because it was dusk, I suppose,” said the detective, assuming a knowing smile, as if he had caught the man.

“I saw it this morning,” answered the porter without hesitation, “and I washed it away.”

“You should have called the police,” said the other severely.

“Should I, sir?” The porter affected great politeness all at once.  “You will excuse my ignorance.”

“We are wasting time,” Volterra said to the detective.  “The porter knows nothing about it.  Let us go upstairs.”

He led the way, and the others followed, including Gigi, who carried a leathern bag containing a few tools.

“It is of no use to ring again,” observed Volterra.  “There cannot be anybody in the apartment, and this is my own house.  Open that door for us, my man, and do as little damage as you can.”

Gigi looked at the patent lock.

“I cannot pick that, sir,” he said.  “The gentleman made me put it on for him, and it is one of those American patent locks.”

“Break it, then,” Volterra answered.

Gigi selected a strong chisel, and inserted the blade in the crack of the door, on a level with the brass disk.  He found the steel bolt easily.

“Take care,” he said to the Baron, who was nearest to him and drew back to give him room to swing his hammer.

He struck three heavy blows, and the door flew open at the third.  The detective had looked at his watch, for it was his business to note the hour at which any forcible entrance was made.  It was twenty minutes to nine.  Malipieri and Sabina had slept a little more than five hours and a half.

Malipieri, still sleeping heavily in his armchair, heard the noise in a dream.  He fancied he was in the vaults again, driving his crowbar into the bricks, and that he suddenly heard Masin working from the other side.  But Masin was not alone, for there were voices, and he had several people with him.

Malipieri awoke with a violent start.  Volterra, the detective, the two police soldiers, Gigi and the porter were all in the study, looking at him as he sat there in his armchair, in the broad light, carefully dressed as if he had been about to go out when he had sat down.

“You sleep soundly, Signer Malipieri,” said the fat Baron, with a caressing smile.