"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.
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