ved with bricks, and a short
examination showed that none of them had been moved.

Giovanni turned back into the laboratory, stood a moment looking
disconsolately at the big stone which it had cost him so much fruitless
labour to move, and then passed round by the other side of the furnace,
along the wall against which the bench and the easy chair were placed.
His eye fell on Marietta's silk mantle, which lay as when it had slipped
down from her shoulders, the skirts of it trailing on the floor. His
brows contracted suddenly. He came nearer, felt the stuff, and was sure
that he recognised it. Then he looked at it, as it lay. It had the
unmistakable appearance of having been left, as it had been, by the
person who had last sat in the chair.

Two explanations of the presence of the mantle in the laboratory
suggested themselves to him at once, but the idea that Marietta could
herself have been seated in the chair not long ago was so absurd that he
at once adopted the other. Zorzi had stolen the mantle, and used it for
himself in the evening, confident that no one would see him. To-night he
had been surprised and had left it in the chair, another and perhaps a
crowning proof of his atrocious crimes. Was he not a thief, as well as a
liar and an assassin? Giovanni knew well enough that the law would
distinguish between stealing the art of glass-making, which was merely a
civil offence, though a grave one, and stealing a mantle of silk which
he estimated to be worth at least two or three pieces of gold. That was
theft, and it was criminal, and it was one of many crimes which Zorzi
had undoubtedly committed. The hangman would twist the rest out of him
with the rack and the iron boot, thought Giovanni gleefully. The
Governor should see the mantle with his own eyes.

Before he went away, he was careful to fasten the window securely
inside, and he locked the door after him, taking the key. He carried the
brass lamp with him, for the corridor was very dark and the night was
quite still.

Pasquale was seated on the edge of his box-bed in his little lodge when
Giovanni came to the door. He was more like a big and very ugly
watch-dog crouching in his kennel than anything else.

"Let no one try to go into the laboratory," said Giovanni, setting down
the lamp. "I have locked it myself."

Pasquale snarled something incomprehensible, by way of reply, and rose
to let Giovanni out. He noticed that the latter had brought nothing but
t