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denunciation. The captain began to nod impatiently. He
held up his hand and the hydra-headed address, with a few
parting exclamations, died away. Then he turned to Dick.
‘Spick Italiano?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Spick Français?’
‘Oui,’ said Dick, glowering.
‘Alors. Écoute. Va au Quirinal. Espèce d’endormi. Écoute:
vous êtes saoûl. Payez ce que le chauffeur demande. Com-
prenez-vous?’
Diver shook his head.
‘Non, je ne veux pas.’
‘COME?’
‘Je paierai quarante lires. C’est bien assez.’
The captain stood up.
‘Écoute!’ he cried portentously. ‘Vous êtes saoûl. Vous
avez battu le chauffeur. Comme ci, comme ça.’ He struck
the air excitedly with right hand and left, ‘C’est bon que je
vous donne la liberté. Payez ce qu’il a dit—cento lire. Va au
Quirinal.’
Raging with humiliation, Dick stared back at him.
‘All right.’ He turned blindly to the door—before him,
leering and nodding, was the man who had brought him to
the police station. ‘I’ll go home,’ he shouted, ‘but first I’ll fix
this baby.’
He walked past the staring carabinieri and up to the
grinning face, hit it with a smashing left beside the jaw. The
man dropped to the floor.
For a moment he stood over him in savage triumph—but

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