the two workmen, a mason and a carpenter, had not been treated by
Baron Volterra in such a way as to make them give a favourable report;
and as he seemed perfectly indifferent about the result this is quite
possible. At all events the carpenter made out that he could not get
at the beams in question, without moving the decorations which covered
them, and the mason affirmed that it was quite impossible to get a
view of the foundations of the north-west corner of the palace, which
were said to be weak, without knocking a hole through a wall upon
which depended such solidity as there was. It was useless, he said.
The snuffy gentleman could ask the Baron, if he pleased, and the Baron
could do what he liked since the property now belonged to him: but he,
the mason, would not lay hand to pick or crowbar without the Baron's
express authorization. The Baron was a Senator of the Kingdom, said
the mason, and could therefore of course send him to penal servitude
in the galleys for life, if he pleased. That is the average Roman
workman's idea of justice. The snuffy expert, who looked very much
like a poor priest in plain clothes, though he evidently knew his
business, made no reply, nor any attempt to help the mason's
conscience with money.

But he stood a little while by the wall, with his lantern in his
hands, and presently put his ear to the damp stones, and listened.

"There is running water somewhere not far off," he said, looking
keenly at the workman.

"It is certainly not wine," answered the man, with a rough laugh, for
he thought it a very good joke.

"Are there any 'lost waters' under the palace?" asked the expert.