"Does she always come at the same time?"
"As far as I know. But time is nothing to us. We just wait for death."
"Are the chains locked?"
"Yes. And she must have die key. But we could file the links if only we had files. If only each of us had a file, we could get free, Perhaps the man upstairs has a key, but I hardly think so."
"Did you write on that pretty wall upstairs, the whitewashed wall?"
"I did; I think we all did. One man wrote a sonnet to the woman, verses in her honor, telling about her beautiful eyes. He raved about that poem for hours while he was dying. Did you ever see it on the wall?"
"I did not see it. The old people whitewash the walls before each new master comes."
"I thought so."
"Are you sure you would know what to do, George, if she sang to you and you were loose?"
"Yes, we would know."
So I left him, promising an end to the matter as soon as I could arrange it.
The next day saw me calling on the Donna Marchesi. I took her flowers that time, a corsage of vivid purple and scarlet orchids. She entertained me in her music room and I, taking the hint, asked her to sing. Shyly, almost with reluctance, she did as I asked. She sang the selection from the Italian opera that I knew so well. I was generous in my applause.
She smiled.
"You like to hear me sing?"
"Indeed! I want to hear you again. I could hear you daily without growing tired."
"You're nice," she purred. "Perhaps it could be arranged."
"You are too modest. You have a wonderful voice. Why not give it to the world?"
"I sang once in public," she sighed. "It was in New York, at a private musical. There were many men there. Perhaps it was stage fright; my voice broke badly, and the audience, especially the men, were not kind. I am not sure, but I thought that I heard some of them hiss me."
"Surely not!" I protested.
"Indeed, so. But no man has hissed my singing since then."
"I hope not!" I replied indignantly. "You have a wonderful voice, and, when I applauded you, I was sincere. By the way, may I change my mind and ask for the key to the door in the cellar?"
"Do you want it, really want it, my friend?"
"I am sure I do. I may never use it, but it will please me to have it. Little things in life make me happy, and this key is a little thing."
"Then you shall have it. Will you do me a favor? Wait till Sunday to use it. Today is Friday, and you will not have to wait many hours."
"It will be a pleasure to do as you desire," I replied, kissing her hand. "And shall I hear you sing again? May I come often to hear you sing?"
"I promise you that," she sighed. "I am sure that you will hear me sing often in the future. I feel that in some way our fates approach the same star."
I looked into her eyes, her yellow cat-eyes, and I was sure that she spoke the truth. Destiny had certainly brought me to find her in Sorona.
I bought two dozen rat-tailed files, and dashed across the mountains to Milan. There I was closeted with the consuls of three nations: England, France and my own. They did not want to believe my story. I gave them names, and
