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Updated: May 16, 2025
Griggs answered him in his own strain. "A man is not an assassin who kills his enemy for a good reason, Stefanone," he observed. "How do I know what he may have done to you?" "To me? Nothing." The peasant shrugged his sturdy shoulders. "Then I have made a mistake," said Griggs. "You have made a mistake," assented Stefanone. "Let us not talk about it any more." "Very well."
"In the meanwhile, it is true what he said," continued Stefanone. "You make eyes at him. You wait for him and watch for him when he comes back from the mountains " "Well? Is it not my place to serve him with his supper? If you are not satisfied, hire a servant to wait on him. You are rich. What do I care for the Englishman?
"No inconvenience," replied Griggs, civilly, as is the custom. "But I have to work." "Study, study!" grumbled Stefanone, going towards the door. "What does it all conclude, this great study? Headache. For a flask of wine you have the same thing, and the pleasure besides. It is enough. Signore," he added, reluctantly turning the handle, "I go. Think of what I have said to you.
"They went out to spend the summer at Subiaco " "At Subiaco?" Dalrymple's steely blue eyes fixed themselves in a look of extreme attention. "Yes, during the heat. They lodged in the house of a man called Stefanone a wine-seller a very respectable place." Lord Redin had started nervously at the name, but he recovered himself. "Very respectable," he said, in an odd tone.
"If they wish a mouthful of food, there is what there is. But I am not the village host, and Nanna is not a wine-shop cook, to fry tripe and peel onions for Titius and Caius." The old Roman expression, denoting generally the average public, survives still in polite society, and Stefanone had caught it from Sor Tommaso.
And there were hams and sides of bacon, and red peppers, and bundles of dried herbs, and great mountain cheeses on shelves. There was also a guest room, better than the rest, which Stefanone and his wife occasionally let to respectable travellers or to the merchants who came from Rome on business to stay a few days in Subiaco.
He chose the spot on the dark overcoat where his knife should go through, below the shoulder-blade, at the height of the small ribs on the left side. His lips were parted and dry. There was a loud scream of anger, a tremendous clattering noise, and a sound of feet. Stefanone turned suddenly pale, and his hand went to the bottom of his pocket again.
He watched the people curiously, as though they merely existed to perform tricks for his benefit. But they did not amuse him, for nothing could amuse him, nor interest him when he had momentarily got rid of his double, as sometimes happened when he was out of doors. One day, the month having passed again, Stefanone came for his money.
And all the way to the hotel in the Piazza di Spagna Stefanone had followed him at a distance, watching the great loose-jointed frame and the slightly stooping head, till the Scotchman disappeared under the archway, past the porter, who stood aside, his gold-laced cap in his hand, bowing low to the 'English lord. Stefanone waited a few moments and then accosted the porter civilly.
The latter, who possessed more moral than physical courage, moved his chair back and prepared to make his escape, if Stefanone showed signs of coming round the table. At that moment a tall figure darkened the door that opened upon the street, and a quiet, dry voice spoke with a strong foreign accent.
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