He had made a step towards the door of the laboratory, when he saw his
father emerge from the dark passage. He was a coward, and he trembled
from head to foot, his teeth chattered in his head, and the cold sweat
moistened his forehead in an instant. The old man stood still four or
five paces from him and looked from him to the men who had been digging.
On seeing the master they stopped working and pulled off their knitted
caps. As a further sign of respect they wiped their dripping faces with
their shirt sleeves.
"What are you doing here?" asked Beroviero in a tone of displeasure.
"The garden was very well as it was."
"I--I thought," stammered Giovanni, "that it would--that it might be
better to dig it--"
"It would not be better," answered the old man. "You may go," he added,
speaking to the men, who were glad enough to be dismissed.
Beroviero passed his son without further words and tried the door of the
laboratory, but found it locked.
"What is this?" he asked angrily. "Where is Zorzi? I told him not to
leave you here alone."
"You had great confidence in him," answered Giovanni, recovering himself
a little. "He is in prison."
He took the key from his wallet and thrust it into the lock as he spoke.
"In prison!" cried Beroviero in a loud voice.
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