He
was neither a priest nor a theologian, but a statesman.
"My dear friend," he answered at last. "The ingenuity of your
suppositions passes belief. I can only say that, when you find
yourself in such a bad case as you describe, I will submit the
matter for you to the Holy Father himself. But I would strongly
advise you to avoid the situation if you possibly can."
Gouache took his leave with a light heart, little guessing as he
descended the great marble staircase that Giovanni Saracinesca was
the prisoner of whom the cardinal had spoken so mysteriously,
still less that he, too, had falsely accused himself of having
killed poor old Montevarchi. He wondered, as he walked rapidly
along the streets in the bright morning sunshine, who the man was,
and why he had done such a thing, but his thoughts were really
with Faustina, and he longed to see her and to hear from her own
lips the true version of what had happened.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Arnoldo Meschini was fully conscious of what he had done when he
softly closed the door of the study behind him and returned to the
library; but although he knew and realised that he had murdered
his employer, he could not explain the act to himself. His temples
throbbed painfully and there was a bright red spot in each of his
sallow cheeks.
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