There could be only one reason why any one should take so much trouble; the object was evidently to make Malipieri’s acquaintance, in the absence of an ordinary introduction.  And yet Signor Bruni had quite forgotten to give his card with his address, as almost any Italian would have done under the circumstances, whether he expected the meeting to be followed by another or not.  Malipieri spent most of his time in his rooms, but he knew very well that he might go about Rome for weeks and not come across the man again.

He recalled the whole conversation.  He had in the first place expected that Bruni would be inquisitive about the palace, and perhaps ask to be shown over it, but it was only at the last that he had put one or two questions which suggested an interest in the building, and then he had at once taken the hint given him by Malipieri’s cold tone, and had not persisted.  On the other hand he had looked carefully at the titles of the books on the shelves, as if in search of something.

Then Malipieri was conscious again of the association, in his own mind, between the man’s personality and his own political experiences, and he suddenly laughed aloud.

“What a precious fool I am!” he thought.  “The man is nothing but a detective!”

The echo of his laugh came back to him from across the dusky court in rather a ghostly way.

The evening air was all at once chilly, and he shut his window and called for Masin, who instantly appeared with a lamp.  Masin was always ready, and, indeed, possessed many qualities excellent in a faithful servant, among which gratitude to Malipieri held a high place.

He had something to be grateful for, which is not, however, always a cause of gratitude in the receiver of favours and mercies.  He had been a convict, and had served a term of several years in penal servitude.  The sentence had been passed upon him for having stabbed a man in the back, in a drunken brawl, but Masin had steadily denied the charge, and the evidence against him had been merely circumstantial.  It had happened in Rome, where Masin had worked as a mason during the construction of the new Courts of Justice.  He was from the far north of Italy, and was, of course, hated by his companions, as only Italians of different parts of the country can hate one another.  To shield one of themselves, they unanimously gave evidence against Masin; the jury was chiefly composed of Romans, the judge was a Sicilian, and Masin had no chance.  Fortunately for him, the man lived, though much injured; if he had died, Masin would have got a life sentence.  It was an old story; false witnesses, a prejudiced jury, and a judge who, though willing to put his prejudices aside, had little choice but to convict.