"You like to hear me sing?"
"Indeed!
I want to hear you again. I could hear you daily without growing tired."
"You're nice," she purred.
"Perhaps it could be arranged."
"You are too modest. You have a wonderful voice.
Why not give it to the world?"
"I sang once in public," she sighed.
"It was in New York, at a private musical.
There were many men there.
Perhaps it was stage fright; my voice broke badly, and the audience, especially the men, were not kind.
I am not sure, but I thought that I heard some of them hiss me."
"Surely not!" I protested.
"Indeed, so.
But no man has hissed my singing since then."
"I hope not!" I replied indignantly.
"You have a wonderful voice, and, when I applauded you, I was sincere.
By the way, may I change my mind and ask for the key to the door in the cellar?"
"Do you want it, really want it, my friend?"
"I am sure I do.
I may never use it, but it will please me to have it.
Little things in life make me happy, and this key is a little thing."
"Then you shall have it.
Will you do me a favor? Wait till Sunday to use it.
Today is Friday, and you will not have to wait many hours."
"It will be a pleasure to do as you desire," I replied, kissing her hand.
"And shall I hear you sing again?
May I come often to hear you sing?"
"I promise you that," she sighed.
"I am sure that you will hear me sing often in the future.
I feel that in some way our fates approach the same star."
I looked into her eyes, her yellow cat-eyes, and I was sure that she spoke the truth.
Destiny had certainly brought me to find her in Sorona.
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."