It chanced that the wine was good, being from my own vineyard,--my little vineyard that I bought outside of Porta Salara,--and the men were cold and wet, for it was raining.
"Well," said the man who had spoken before,--he was clean-shaved and fat, and he smacked his lips over the wine,--"It is not our way to answer questions.

But since you are so civil, I will tell you that you are arrested on suspicion of having poisoned that Russian baroness, with the long name, at whose house you have been so intimate." "Poisoned?
The baroness poisoned?
Is she very ill, then ?" asked Nino, in great alarm.
"She is dead," said the fat mat, wiping his mouth and twisting the empty glass in his hand.
"Dead!" cried Nino and I together.
"Dead--yes; as dead as St.Peter," he answered, irreverently.

"Your wine is good, Signor Professore.

Yes, I will take another glass--and my men, too.

Yes, she was found dead this morning, lying in her bed.
You were there yesterday, Signor Cardegna, and her servant says he saw you giving her something in a glass of water." He drank a long draught from his glass.