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The press was obliged to take up the question, led by the Giornale d'Italia. In 1910 a Men's League for Woman Suffrage was formed with a membership of prominent men. A bill was brought before the Chamber to abolish marital authority, admit women to the legal profession and give them a vote in local government. Premier Sonnino was in sympathy but his Cabinet fell.
Baron Sonnino, the Italian prime minister, made a speech in which he declared that Italy was determined to do everything to assist the Serbian army, and that the Italian flag on the other side of the Adriatic would also constitute a reaffirmation of Italy's traditional policy, which included the maintenance of Albanian independence.
And then Gentleman Laroque laughed gratingly. "Hello, Sonnino!" he said coolly. "A little late, aren't you? You've kept me stalling for the last five minutes. Know my friend Mr. Martin Moore, alias Mr. Clarie Archman? Clarie, this is Signor Niccolo Sonnino, the proprietor of this joint."
When it could be proved that brigands had committed murder, they were confined in prisons in the Maremma, at Campo Morto, where fever prevails, and where they were supposed to die of malaria. I saw Gasperone, the chief of a famous band, in a prison at Civita Vecchia; he was said to be a relative of Cardinal Antonelli, both coming from the brigand village of Sonnino, in the Volscian mountains.
The houses of Sonnino, old, ill-built, flung pell-mell one, upon the other, and almost uninhabitable by human beings, were, in point of fact, little else than depots of pillage and magazines of rapine. The population, alert and vigorous, had for many centuries practised armed robbery and depredation, and gained its livelihood at the point of the carbine.
Sonnino, whose business, the money-lending end of it, would naturally have kept him late at work, was now evidently intent on a belated meal; Sonnino, therefore, could be counted upon as a factor eliminated for at feast the next half hour and half an hour was enough, a little more than enough! Jimmie Dale glanced back over his shoulder. There was no one in sight.
Wilson was inexorable in his refusal to hand the city over to Italy, and the various compromises devised by ingenious weavers of conflicting interests failed to rally the Italian delegates, whose inspirer was the taciturn Baron Sonnino.
Neither of the men spoke only their faces worked in a queer, convulsive sort of way, as they gazed in startled fascination at Jimmie Dale. "Thank you!" said Jimmie Dale politely. He stepped briskly into the room, shoved Sonnino unceremoniously to one side, shoved his revolver muzzle none too gently into Laroque's ribs, and went through the latter's clothes.
Sonnino himself was a crafty little man, but craftiness, if it did not transgress the law, was not a crime; he was undoubtedly a usurer in his petty way, and he was both feared and disliked, but beyond that no one pretended to know anything about him. Ordinarily, Sonnino's safe, then, might be expected to be rather a barren affair, hardly a lure for a Gentleman Laroque brand of crook!
There was a click of an electric-light switch, a cry from Clarie Archman, the inner room was ablaze with light, and Jimmie Dale had edged forward again out of the hallway Sonnino, revolver in hand, was standing just over the threshold facing Gentleman Laroque and the assistant district attorney's son. Then silence a silence of seconds that were as minutes.
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