The caffe was still open, for the glow of
its lights streamed out upon the night and was reflected in the
rain-drenched pavement. Then a thought struck me:
"'Come in here a moment,' I said to him, and I pushed in Pietro's door.
"'Pietro,' I called out, so that everybody in the caffe could hear, 'I'm
going up to Mr. Diffendorfer's room. Better get a fiasco of Chianti
ready--the old kind you have in the cellar. When I want it I'll send
for it.' If I was going into a trap it was just as well to let somebody
know whom I was last seen with. The boys had seen me go out with him,
but nobody knew where he lived or where he had taken me. I was ashamed
of it as soon as I had said it, but somehow I felt as if it were just
as well to keep my eyes open.
"Diffendorfer pushed past me and called out to Pietro, in a half-angry
tone:
"'No, don't you send it. I've got all the wine we'll want,' turned on
his heel, held his door open for me to pass in, and slammed it
behind us.
"It was pitch-dark inside as we mounted the stairs one step at a time
until we reached the second flight, where the light from a smouldering
wick of a fiorentina set in a niche in the wall shed a dim glow.
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