there, a clock, down in the city, chimed out the
half-hour. Its deep note, striking across the tinkle of the
mandolin, fetched me out of my brown study. Half-past seven. . . .
I had an hour and a half to spare; ample time to step down to the
Palazzo Verde and reconnoitre. If only I could hit upon some scent
of the priest Domenico!

I started at a brisk pace to warm my blood, which had taken a chill
from the draught of the doorway. The snow by this time lay
ankle-deep, and even deeper in the pitfalls with which the ill-lit
streets abounded; but in twenty minutes I had reached the Via Balbi.
The wind was rising; in spite of the snow driven against my face I
had not noticed until I heard it humming in the alley which led under
the shadow of the garden wall. I had scarcely noticed it before my
ears caught the jingle of bells approaching swiftly down the Via
Balbi.

"Eh?" thought I, "is the Prince returning, then, to change his dress?
Or has he sent home his carriage, meaning to pursue the adventure on
foot?"

There was no time to run back to the street corner and satisfy my
curiosity. The horses went clashing past the head of the alley at a
gallop, and presently I heard the front gates of the palace grind
open on their great hinges. Half a minute later they were closed
again with a jar, and almost immediately the clocks of the city began
to toll out the hour.

Was it my fancy? Or did the last note die away with a long-drawn
choking sound, as of some one struggling for breath? . . .
And, last time, it had been the tap-tap of a hammer. . . .
Surely, strange noises haunted this alley. . . .

I listened. I knew that I must be standing near the small door in
the wall, though in the darkness I could not see it. The sinister
sound was not repeated. I could be sworn, though, that my eyes had
heard it; and still, for two minutes perhaps, I stood listening, my
face lifted towards the wall's coping. Then indeed I heard
something--not at all that for which I strained my ears, but a soft
muffled footfall on the snow behind me--and faced about on it,
clutching at the sailor's knife I wore in my belt.

It was a woman. She had almost blundered into me as I stood in the
shadow of the wall, and now, within reach of my arm, drew back with a
gasp of terror. Terror indeed held her numb while I craned forward,
peering into her face.

"Signorina Bianca!"

"But what--what brings you?" she stammered, still between quick ga