.
However, he got out.

It was a very dark night, about nine o'clock, and deserted seeming. He
was struck by the strange, deserted feeling of the city's atmosphere.
Yet he noticed before him, at the foot of the statue, three men, one
with a torch: a long torch with naked flames. The men were stooping over
something dark, the man with the torch bending forward too. It was a
dark, weird little group, like Mediaeval Florence. Aaron lingered on his
doorstep, watching. He could not see what they were doing. But now, the
two were crouching down; over a long dark object on the ground, and the
one with the torch bending also to look. What was it? They were just at
the foot of the statue, a dark little group under the big pediment, the
torch-flames weirdly flickering as the torch-bearer moved and stooped
lower to the two crouching men, who seemed to be kneeling.

Aaron felt his blood stir. There was something dark and mysterious,
stealthy, in the little scene. It was obvious the men did not want to
draw attention, they were so quiet and furtive-seeming. And an eerie
instinct prevented Aaron's going nearer to look. Instead, he swerved
on to the Lungarno, and went along the top of the square, avoiding the
little group in the centre. He walked the deserted dark-seeming street
by the river, then turned inwards, into the city. He was going to the
Piazza Vittoria Emmanuele, to sit in the cafe which is the centre
of Florence at night. There he could sit for an hour, and drink his
vermouth and watch the Florentines.

As he went along one of the dark, rather narrow streets, he heard a
hurrying of feet behind him. Glancing round, he saw the torch-bearer
coming along at a trot, holding his flaming torch up in front of him as
he trotted down the middle of the narrow dark street. Aaron shrank under
the wall. The trotting torch-bearer drew near, and now Aaron perceived
the other two men slowly trotting behind, stealthily, bearing a
stretcher on which a body was wrapped up, completely and darkly covered.
The torch-bearer passed, the men with the stretcher passed too, hastily
and stealthily, the flickering flames revealing them. They took no
notice of Aaron, no notice of anything, but trotted softly on towards
the centre of the city. Their queer, quick footsteps echoed down the
distance. Then Aaron too resumed his way.

He came to the large, brilliantly-lighted cafe. It was Sunday evening,
and the place was full. Men, Florentines, many, man