Early in the evening, as Quentin was leaving the hotel for a short
stroll, he met the duke. The Italian accosted him familiarly and
asked if he were trying to find a cool spot.

"I thought a ride on the tramcars might cool me off a bit,'" said
Phil.

"I know the city quite well, and I, too, am searching for relief
from the heat. Do you object to company in your ride or stroll?"

"Happy to have you, I assure you. If you'll be good enough to wait
here for a moment, till I find my stick, I'll be with you." The duke
bowed politely, and Phil hastened back to his rooms. He secured his
stick, and did more. Like a wise young man, he bethought himself of
a possible trap, and the quest of the stick gave him the opportunity
to instruct Turk to follow him and the duke and to be where he was
needed in case of an emergency.

The tall, fresh-faced American in his flannels, and the short,
bearded Italian in his trim frock coat and silk hat strolled
leisurely forth into the crowded Place du Palais.

"Shall we walk awhile and then find a cafe where we may have
something to drink?" asked the duke, his English so imperfect that
no writer could reproduce it.

"I am in your hands, and at your mercy," said the other, clinging
close to him as they merged into the crowd.