nnounced his intention
of waiting till his master was set free, and by way of inspiring
confidence he paid for three days' lodging in advance. His object in
seeing Stradella was to get definite instructions in the first place,
and, secondly, to take him a dish of meat and a supply of such food as
would keep some time without spoiling. Stradella would probably bid him
ride post to Rome and bring back an order from Cardinal Altieri which
would set everything right; but it would scarcely be possible to cover
the distance and return in less than ten days, at the very least, during
which time it was only too probable that the musician would fall ill
from lack of food and from the possible dampness and closeness of his
prison.

The hours passed slowly enough in the solitude of the little upper room
in which Cucurullo spent most of that day and the next, and the
intervening night; for he thought it wiser not to be seen much in the
town, being what he was, a mark for men's eyes wherever he went. He
would have read if he could have found a book, for he was a good reader
and writer, and often copied music for his master, for he could engross
handsomely; but there were no books in the inn, not even the works of
that 'poor Signor Torquato Tasso,' who had been so long shut up as a
lunatic in Ferrara in the days of the Marquis Alfonso Second. The only
book Cucurullo had been able to find was a small volume with a very
strange name, for its title was _Eikon Basilike_; but Cucurullo did not
understand a word of it, and the innkeeper said he thought the book must
have been forgotten by two rich English gentlemen who had lately spent
some days in his house.

At the appointed hour Cucurullo crossed the drawbridge of the castle,
pushed the small postern, and went in. A hanging iron lamp, fed with
mingled olive-oil and tallow, dimly lighted the great archway, where the
sentry was pacing up and down. Sergeant Hector came forward as soon as
the hunchback appeared, and closed and bolted the postern after him
before speaking. The other men of the watch were presumably dozing in
the guard-room, from the open door of which no light appeared.

'This way, my dear friend,' whispered the sergeant. 'The man is
waiting.'

He hurried Cucurullo along the dark way towards the inner court, laying
a hand on his crooked back by way of guiding him; but the truth was that
since he had met Cucurullo his luck at play had been surprisingly good,
and he would