motion of her finger to her lip, which looked a natural gesture to the
casual observer, but which I construed into a sign of prudence.

"Where did you pick him up, Croppo?" she asked carelessly. "He ought to
be worth something."

"Just twelve _bajocchi_," he answered with a sneering laugh. "Come,
_amico mio_, you will have to give us the names of some of your friends."

"I am tolerably intimate with his Holiness the Pope, and I have a bowing
acquaintance with the King of Naples, whom may God speedily restore to
his own," I replied in a light and airy fashion, which seemed exceedingly
to exasperate the man called Croppo.

"Oh yes, we know all about that; we never catch a man who does not
profess to be a _Nero_ of the deepest dye in order to conciliate our
sympathies. It is just as well that you should understand, my friend,
that all are fish who come into our net. The money of the Pope's friends
is quite as good as the money of Garibaldi's. You need not hope to put
us off with your Italian friends of any colour: what we want is English
gold--good solid English gold, and plenty of it."

"Ah," said I, with a laugh, "if you did but know, my friend, how long I
have wanted it too. If you could only suggest an Englishman who would
pay you for my life, I would write to him immediately, and we would go
halves in the ransom. Hold!" I said, a bright idea suddenly striking me;
"suppose I were to write to my Government--how would that do?"

Croppo was evidently puzzled: my cheerful and unembarrassed manner
apparently perplexed him. He had a suspicion that I was even capable of