"Hold on," I interrupted, "what count gets what letter?"
"Oh, the count it's about, you know. He gets this letter from this Porphirio . . . "
"From which Porphirio?"
"Why, Porphirio sent the letter, don't you see, he sent it," Sinclair exclaimed a little impatiently—"sent it through Demonio and told him to watch for him with him, and kill him when he got him."
"Oh, see here!" I broke in, "who is to meet who, and who is to get stabbed?"
"They're going to stab Demonio."
"And who brought the letter?"
"Demonio."
"Well, now, Demonio must be a clam! What did he bring it for?"
"Oh, but he don't know what's in it, that's just the slick part of it," and Sinclair began to snigger to himself at the thought of it. "You see, this Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere . . . "
"Stop right there," I said. "What's a Condottiere?"
"It's a sort of brigand. He, you understand, was in league with this Fra Fraliccolo . . . "
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