was, in fact, what was about to happen, and what Trombin himself
expected. On the other hand, Don Alberto knew very well where the house
was to which he had been taken by Tommaso, for he was a Roman, and every
yard of the road was familiar to him. Within less than an hour it was
more than likely that he would send a force of sbirri to besiege the
house, men who would not hesitate to break down the doors if they were
not admitted, and by no means so easy to frighten away as the clumsily
armed watchmen whom the Bravi had put to flight. The only possible
safety for the Bravi lay in leaving the place with Ortensia before such
a thing happened. The post-carriage in which Trombin meant to carry her
off that very night was waiting not far away in charge of a well-paid
stable hand, and Tommaso and Gambardella had only to bring it to the
door. The stableman was then to take back the two mules, and the coach
would leave the city at once, by Porta San Lorenzo, while Ortensia would
suppose that she was being taken to the Palazzo Altieri or to some new
place of safety. The plan was well laid, for it would be easy for
Gambardella to make Stradella believe that his wife had been spirited
away by Don Alberto's agents, and that Trombin had followed on horseback
in hot pursuit. Stradella would lose no time, and would certainly accept
Gambardella's assistance in the chase; and in due time husband and wife
would reach Venice separately and fall into the respective traps the
Bravi had ready for them.

All this might succeed easily enough by the liberal use of money, and
under the protection of the pardons and passports the two cut-throats
had in their possession; but it was clear that no time was to be lost,
and while Trombin's gaze lingered on Ortensia's lovely face, he was
anxiously listening for his friend's knock below, and he did not even
attempt to answer her last speech with reassuring words.

'We cannot move without Gambardella,' he said, speaking in a low tone
now, lest any sound from without should escape his hearing.

It came a moment later, and Trombin hastened to the door at the head of
the stairs; it was locked, however, and the key was in Don Alberto's
pocket, as Ortensia quickly explained. But such a trifle as an ordinary
door that was fastened was not likely to stop a man who had lately
smashed in a strong window-frame with his fists and his shoulder. He
drew back one step, raised his heel to the level of the lock, and
sm