The Argosy, Vol. XXIV, No. 3 — page 165: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A CONSPIRACY OF THE CA’TACOMBS. 549 ‘“T know nothing-about him.’’ ‘He was sent foi and went in while you were there.”’ Safford shrugged his shoulders. ‘T tell you I know nothing of it. But stay! The consul did excuse himself and leave the room for a few minutes on a matter of business. It might have been that. I do not know.’’ ‘Well,’ said his excellency slowly, ‘‘ you are very plausible, my young friend, and I confess I have taken a fancy to you, but in justice to others I do not dare set you free just yet. The evidence is strong against you. In the course of a week it will be proved whether or no you are a traitor. If it all turns out as I hope, you shall be treated like a prince and sent on your way to Florence with the profoundest apologies. If not—well, that understands itself. Your servant, sir.’’ And his excellency bowed himself out. Safford’s prospects were hardly cheerful. A week hence the date of the assassination would be passed. If the king did not go to mass, or observed any unusual precautions, or if any arrests were made, Safford’s doom was sealed. In view of the document in the consul’s hands, some of these things were sure to happen. He tried to be a philosopher and reflect that he was no worse off than if he had died in the catacombs, but there was no great com- fort in the thought. The next iorning his breakfast was brought by a young girl—a girl with fine black eyes and cheeks in which the red blood showed through the olive skin. Safford noticed all this as she stood in the doorway and thought, too, he detected some compassion lurking in the depths of those eyes. He found himself hoping that she would come again. She did come, and after looking over her shoulder to see if she were observed, came down two or three steps and closed the door behind her. ‘Do you not speak Italian a little, signor ?”’ Ah, it was atrap! Safford was on his guard in an instant. ‘Vou need not fear me. I am your friend. Ah, if you could speak it only so little! I would help you gladly. But I cannot speak your English.”’ Safford was sadly perplexed. Here perhaps was a chance of escape. But it might also be a ruse to make him conimit himself. He hesitated. ‘‘Ah, I am so sorry,’’ the girl went on in her mellifluous Italian, ‘‘so sorry. You do not understand me, and I so wanted to help you.’’ A wave of trust came over him. He opened his lips to speak but she had gone. Safford waited in vain for her return. His meals were, as before, brought by a rough looking man, who made no attempt to speak with him. A couple | of days passed, counted only by meals. ‘Then the door opened and as it let in no light, Safford concluded it must be night. The door was closed very gently indeed, a match was struck, and Safford saw the dark eyed girl again. She lit a lantern which she carried and set it on one of the lower steps, then she drew forth a book and held it towards Safford. It was an Italian-EHng- lish dictionary. Slowly and painfully the girl hunted out word after word that she needed, showing each English word to Safford as she found it. He CONMCEOOOKS.CO