I myself bought them--when I travelled in Italy--from one of his descendants." "Lorenzo Giovanni Cenci," said Chauvelin, spelling the Italian names quite slowly.
"The greatest blackguard that ever trod this earth.

You, no doubt, Monsieur, know his history better than we do.

Rapine, theft, murder, nothing came amiss to Signor Lorenzo...

neither the deadly drug in the cup nor the poisoned dagger." He had spoken lightly, carelessly, with that same tone of easy banter which he had not forsaken throughout the evening, and the same drawly manner which was habitual to him.

But at these last words of his, Chauvelin gave a visible start, and then abruptly replaced the sword--which he had been examining--upon the table.
He threw a quick, suspicious glance at Blakeney, who, leaning back against the chair and one knee resting on the cushioned seat, was idly toying with the other blade, the exact pair to the one which the ex-ambassador had so suddenly put down.
"Well, Monsieur," quoth Sir Percy after a slight pause, and meeting with a swift glance of lazy irony his opponent's fixed gaze.