“What authority have you to interfere with me?” he asked haughtily. The wretch who was holding his right arm murmured judicially: “An Inglese, without a doubt.” A stout man in a wide-brimmed hat, who was standing in front of him, grunted: “The authority of four against one,” then addressed his companions to the general effect that he didn’t know what the world was coming to if foreigners were allowed to mix themselves up with conspirators. It looked as if they had been at a loss what to do with their captive. One of them insinuated: “I don’t know. Those foreigners have plenty of money and are impatient of restraint. A poor man may get a chance.”
Cosmo thought that probably each of them was provided with a stiletto. Nothing prevented them from stabbing him in several places, weighting his body with some stones from the seashore, and throwing it into the water. What an unlucky reputation to have! He remembered that he had no money with him. The few coins he used to carry in his pocket were lying on his mantelpiece in the bedroom at the inn. This would have made no difference if those men had been bandits, since they would not be aware of the emptiness of his pockets. “I could have probably bribed them to let me go,” he thought, after he had heard the same man add with a little laugh, “I mean obliging poor men. Those English signori are rich and harmless.”
Cosmo regretted more than ever not being able to make them an offer. It would have been probably successful, as they seemed to be in doubt what to do next. He mentioned he was living at the Casa Graziani. “If one of you will go with me there you shall be recompensed for your trouble.” No answer was made to that proposal except that one of the men coughed slightly. Their chief in a hat with an enormous brim seemed lost in deep thought, and his immobility in front of Cosmo appeared to the latter amusingly mysterious and sinister. A sort of nervous impatience came over Cosmo, an absurd longing to tear himself away and make a dash for liberty, and then an absurd discouragement as though he were a criminal with no hiding-place to make for. The man in the big hat jerked up his head suddenly and disclosed the irritable state of his feelings at the failure of getting hold of that furfante. “As to that Englishman,” he continued in his rasping voice not corresponding to his physical bulk, “let him be taken to the guardroom. He will have to show his papers.”
Cosmo was provoked to say: “Do you expect a gentleman to carry his papers with him when he goes out for a walk?”
He was disconcerted by an outburst of laughter on three sides of him. The leader in the hat did not laugh; he only said bitterly; “We expect papers from a man we find hiding.”
“Well, I have no papers on me,” said Cosmo, and immediately in a sort of mental illumination thought, “Except in my hat.” Of course that object reposing on the top of his head was a bundle of papers, dangerous documents. Attilio was a conspirator. Obviously! The mysterious allusion to something he was to find and hand over to Cantelucci became clear to Cosmo. He felt very indignant with his mysterious acquaintance. “Of course he couldn’t foresee I was going to get into this predicament,” he thought, as if trying to find an excuse for him already.
“Avanti,” commanded the man in front of him.
The grip on his arm of the two others tightened, resistance was no use though he felt sorely tempted again to engage in a struggle. If only he could free himself for a moment, dash off into the darkness, and throw that absurd packet away somewhere before they caught him again. It was a sort of solution; but he discovered in himself an unsuspected and unreasoning loyalty. “No! Somebody would find it and take it to the police,” he thought. “If we come near the quay I may manage to fling it on the water.”
He said with lofty negligence: “You needn’t hold my arms.”
This suggestion was met by a profound silence. Neither of the men holding him relaxed his grasp. Another was treading close on his heels, while the police-hound in the big hat marched a couple of paces in front of him, importantly.
Before long they approached the guardhouse close enough for Cosmo to see the sentry at the foot of the steps, who challenged them militarily. The sbirro in the hat advanced alone and made himself known in the light streaming through the door. It was too late to attempt anything. As he was impelled by his two captors inside the guardroom, which was lighted by a smoky lamp and also full of tobacco smoke, Cosmo thought, “I am in for it. What a horrible nuisance! I wonder whether they will search me?”
At Cosmo’s entrance with his escort several soldiers reclining on the floor raised their heads. It was a small place which may have been used as a store for sails or cordage. The furniture consisted of one long bench, a rack of muskets, a table, and one chair. A sergeant sitting on that chair rose and talked with the head sbirro for a time in a familiar and interested manner about the incidents of the chase, before he even looked at Cosmo. Cosmo could not hear the words. The sergeant was a fine man with long black moustaches and a great scar on his cheek. He nodded from time to time in an understanding manner to the man
