He spoke rather hurriedly.

“It is my duty to make a search in order to discover the motive of the crime,” said the detective with importance.

“What crime?” asked Malipieri with sudden sternness.

“Signor Sassi was very badly injured in this palace,” answered the other.  “The man who took him to the hospital would give no account of himself, and the circumstances are suspicious.  The Baron thinks that the man may be your servant.”

“Yes, he is my servant,” Malipieri said.  “Signor Sassi was trying to follow me into the excavations—­”

“Yes, yes—­that is of no importance,” interrupted Volterra.

“I think it is,” retorted Malipieri.  “I will not let any man remain in prison suspected of having tried to murder poor old Sassi!  I went on,” he continued, explaining to the detective, “leaving the two together.  The old gentleman must have fallen and hurt himself so badly that my man thought it necessary to carry him out at once.  When I tried to get back, I found that the water had risen in the excavations and that the passage was entirely closed, and I had to work all night with a crowbar and pickaxe to break another way for myself.  As for my man, if he refused to give any explanations, it was because he had express orders to preserve the utmost secrecy about the excavations.  He is a faithful fellow, and he obeyed.  That is all.”

“A very connected account, sir, from your point of view,” said the detective.  “If you will allow me, I will write it down.  You see, the service requires us to note everything.”

“Write it down by all means,” Malipieri answered quietly.  “You will find what you need at that table.”

The detective sat down, pulled back the cuff of his coat, took up the pen and began his report with a magnificent flourish.

“You two may go,” said Malipieri to the porter and Gigi.  “We shall not want you any more.”

“As witnesses, perhaps,” said the detective, overhearing.  “Pray let them stay.”

He went on writing, and the Baron settled himself in Malipieri’s armchair, and lit a cigar.  Malipieri walked slowly up and down the room, determined to keep perfectly cool.

“I hope the Baroness is quite well,” he said after a time.

“Quite well, thank you,” answered Volterra, nodding and smiling.

Malipieri continued to pace the floor, trying to see some way out of the situation in which he was caught, and praying to heaven that Sabina might still be sound asleep.  If she were up, she would certainly come to the study in search of him before long, as the doors opened in no other direction.  All his nerves and faculties were strung to the utmost tension, and if the worst came he was prepared to attempt anything.

“It is a very fine day after the rain,” observed the Baron presently.

“It never rains long in Rome, in the spring,” answered Malipieri.

The detective wrote steadily, and neither spoke again till he had finished.