“The poor devil!” he said.  “Tell him I will ask the beautiful saint whom he worships so to send him a portrait of herself with her own hands.  I will.  She will do as much as that for her friend Calabressa.”

This had scarcely been translated to Kirski when, in his sudden gratitude, he caught Calabressa’s hand and kissed it.

“Tell him, also,” Calabressa said, good-naturedly, “that if he is hungry before dinner-time there is sausage and bread and beer in the cupboard.  But he must not stir out till we come back.  Allons, mon bon camarade!”

Calabressa lit another cigarette, and the two companions sallied forth.  They stepped into a gondola, and presently they were being borne swiftly over the plain of light-green water.  By-and-by they plunged into a varied and picturesque mass of shipping, and touched land again in front of a series of stores.  The gondola was ordered to await their return.

Calabressa passed without question through the lower floor of this particular building, where the people were busy with barrels of flour, and led the way up-stairs until he stopped at a certain door.  He knocked thrice and entered.  There was a small, dark man seated at a table, apparently engaged with some bills of lading.

“You are punctual, Brother Calabressa.”

“Your time is valuable, Brother Granaglia.  Let me present to you my comrade Signor Edouarts, of whom I wrote to you.”

The sallow-faced little man with the tired look bowed courteously, begged his guests to be seated, and pushed toward them a box of cigarettes.

“Now, my Calabressa,” said he, “to the point.  As you guess, I am pressed for time.  Seven days hence will find me in Moscow.”

“In Moscow!” exclaimed Calabressa.  “You dare not!”

Granaglia waved his hand a couple of inches.

“Do not protest.  It may be your turn to-morrow.  And my good friend Calabressa would find Moscow just about as dangerous for him as for me.”

“Monsieur le Secretaire, I have no wish to try.  But to the point, as you say.  May one ask how it stands with Zaccatelli?”

Granaglia glanced at the Englishman.

“Of course he knows everything,” Calabressa explained instantly.  “How otherwise should I have brought him with me?”

“Well, Zaccatelli has received his warning.”

“Who carried it?”

“I.”

“You!  You are the devil!  You thrust your head into the lion’s den!”

The black-eyed, worn-faced little man seemed pleased.  An odd, dry smile appeared about the thin lips.

“It needed no courage at all, friend Calabressa.  His Eminence knows who we are, no one better.  The courage was his.  It is not a pleasant thing when you are told that within a certain given time you will be a dead man; but Zaccatelli did not blanch; no, he was very polite to me.  He paid us compliments.  We were not like the others, Calabressa.  We were good citizens and Christians; even his Holiness might be induced to lend an ear; why should not the Church and we be friends?”