Page:Arthur Stringer - The Hand of Peril.djvu/52

 antiquated silver-mounted black cane, the gloves of faded black silk, and the shimmer of jet spangles arrayed along the somewhat opulent breast. He was murmuring the all-condoning word of "Inglese!" when he made note of a further and more compelling fact. The black-gloved hand was holding out to him a ten lire note. Thereupon, having promptly pocketed the same, he sent his long-lashed Sicilian whip whistling about his pony's ears and his cab-wheels went rattling up through the streets of the city.

Arrived at the desired address, his fare stepped painfully and lumberingly from the little open cab, watched hesitatingly until that vehicle was out of sight, and then rounded a corner. This eccentric-minded tourist then walked six doors southward, limping stolidly into the entrance-court of a grey-stone house, as silent and sepulchral of aspect as a mediæval mausoleum.

Here, after being accosted by a rotund and mild-eyed little man in grass slippers and after writing certain words on the pad which she carried, the newcomer was given a key and instructed, in Italian, to mount the stairs.

This she did, unlocking the first door on the left, withdrawing the key, and again carefully locking the door after she had stepped inside.

Once there, she surveyed the chamber with much deliberation. Then she sighed, took off the amber-coloured glasses, divested herself first of the black silk gloves and later of the faded widow's-bonnet. Then she placed her hand-bag on the bed beside them, consulted a watch, and with a second deep sigh