i bought two dozen rat-tailed files, and dashed across the mountains to milan. there i was closeted with the consuls of three nations: england, france and my own. they did not want to believe my story. i gave them names, and they had to admit that there had been inquiries, but they felt that the main details were nightmares, resulting from an over-use of italian wines. but i insisted that i was not drunk with new wine. at last, they called in the chief of the detective bureau. he knew franco, the real-estate agent; also the lady in question. and he had heard something of the villa; not much, but vague whisperings.

"we will be there saturday night," he promised. "that leaves you tonight. the lady will not try to trap you till sunday. can you attend to the old people?"

"they will be harmless. see that franco does not have a chance to escape. here is the extra key to the door. i will go through before twelve. when i am ready, i will open the door. if i am not out by one in the morning, you come through with your police. do we all understand?"

"i understand," said the american consul. "but i still think you are dreaming."

back at the villa, i again drugged the old people, not much, but enough to insure their sleep that night. they liked me. i was liberal with my gold, and i carelessly showed them where i kept my reserve.

then i went through the door. again i heard the donna marchesi sing to an audience that would never hiss her. she left, and i started to distribute the files. from one blind wretch to the next i went, whispering words of cheer and instruction for the next night. they were to cut through a link in the chain, but in such a way that the tiger cat would not suspect that they had gained their liberty. were they pleased to have a hope of freedom? i am not sure, but they were delighted at another prospect.

the next night i doubled the tips to the old servants. with tears of gratitude in their eyes, they thanked me as they called me their dear master. i put them to sleep as though they were babies. in fact, i wondered at the time if they would ever recover from the dose of chloral i gave them. i did not even bother to tie them, but just tossed them on their beds.

at half past ten, automobiles began to arrive with darkened lights. we had a lengthy conference, and soon after eleven i went through the door. i lost no time in making sure that each of the blind mice was a free man, but i insisted that they act as though bound till the proper time. they were trembling, but it was not from fear, not that time.

back in my hiding-place i waited, and soon i heard the singing voice. ten minutes later the donna marchesi had her lantern hung on the nail. ah! she was more beautiful that night than i had ever seen her. dressed in filmy white, her beautiful body, lovely hair, long lithe limbs would have bound any man to her through eternity. she seemed to sense that beauty, for, after giving out the first supply of rolls, she varied her program. she told her audience how she had dressed that evening for their special pleasure. she described her jewels and her costume. she almost became grandiose as she told of her beauty, and, driving in the dagger, she twisted it as she reminded them that never would they be able to see her, never touch her or kiss her hand. all they could do was to hear her sing, applaud and at last die.

of all the terrible things in her life that little talk to those blind men was the climax.

and then she sang. i watched her closely, and i saw what i suspected. she sang with her eyes closed. was she in fancy seeming that she was in an opera-house before thousands of spellbound admirers? who knows? but ever as she sang that night her eyes were closed, and even as she came to a close, waiting for the usual applause, her eyes were closed.