Miss Fosdick, with the hateful brush still in her hand, went timidly to the window on the opposite side of the room. Below her the graveled courtyard lay drenched in moonlight and bordered by the lean black shadows of the cypresses. She was aware that the motor with dimmed lights still stood on the opposite side of the valley. At first she could see no one, and then after a moment a tall man stepped from the shadow of the portico into the moonlight and called up to her in Italian. Miss Fosdick understood only the word "telephone," and partly in gestures, partly in bad Italian, explained that there was no telephone. The stranger at once began speaking English in a deep melodious voice with scarcely any accent.
His companion stepped into the moonlight and Miss Fosdick recognized him. It was dirty old Pietro, who kept goats and lived in a hut among the olive trees half-way up the mountain.
The stranger explained that he was motoring from Siena to Brinoë and that he had had an accident. Some thief had charged him for forty litres of petrol and put only twenty into the tank of his motor. If they had no telephone he was lost, unless by some miracle they had a few litres of petrol.
Behind Miss Fosdick Mrs. Weatherby had crossed the room and was standing discreetly in the shadow, peeping from the shelter of a curtain.
There was a miracle and the miracle was the Ford which Giovanni used for going into Monte Salvatore. There must be some petrol in the tank. It stood in a part of the vast ruined stable built by the Spanish Ambassador to house his Arab horses.
