“It is true,” the man said.  “And the name of the captain was Don Antonino Maresca.  He was of Vico.”

“Where is Vico?” inquired Ercole, idly scratching his dog’s back with the stock of his gun.

“Near Castellamare,” answered Padre Francesco, willing to show his knowledge.

“One sees that you are a man of the sea,” said the sailor, meaning to please him.  “And so we thank you, and we go.”

Ercole and the old watchman saw the two ragged sailors put off in the battered boat and pull away over the bar; then they went back to the shade of the tower and sat down again and refilled their pipes, and were silent for a long time.  Padre Francesco’s old wife, who had not shown herself yet, came and stood in the doorway, nodded to Ercole, fanned herself with her apron, counted the chickens in sight, and observed that the weather was hot.  Then she went in again.

“It is easy to remember the name of that ship,” said Ercole at last, without glancing at his companion.

“And the master was Antonino Maresca of Vico,” said Padre Francesco.

“But the truth is that it is none of our business,” said Ercole.

“The captain was mistaken,” said Padre Francesco.

“He saw trees moving in the wind,” said Ercole.

Then they looked at each other and nodded.

“Perhaps the Professor was mistaken about the girl, and the silk dress and the gold earrings,” suggested Padre Francesco, turning his eyes away.

“He was certainly mistaken,” asserted Ercole, watching him closely.  “And moreover it is none of our business.”

“None whatever.”

They talked of other things, making remarks at longer and longer intervals, till the sun sank near the oily sea, and Ercole took his departure, much wiser in regard to Marcello’s disappearance than when he had come.  He followed the long beach for an hour till he came to the gap in the bank.  There he stopped, and proceeded to examine the place carefully, going well inside it, and then turning to ascertain exactly where Marcello must have been when he was struck, since at that moment he must have been distinctly visible from the brigantine.  The gap was so narrow that it was not hard to fix upon the spot where the deed had been done, especially as the captain had seen Marcello dragged quickly away towards the bushes.  Every word of the sailor’s story was stamped with truth; and so it came about that when Corbario believed himself at last quite safe, a man in his own pay suddenly discovered the whole truth about the attempted crime, even to the name of the principal witness.