ools, and in the middle of the room stood a brazier, the coals in it
yet glowing, with five or sick steel-handled implements left as they
had been thrust into the heart of the fire. Were they, then, also
torturers, these murderers?

My eyes turned again to the work-table. On it, among the tools,
rested a crown--the crown of Corsica! Nay, there were two--two
crowns of Corsica! . . . In what new art of treachery had the man
been surprised? Treachery to Genoa, on top of treachery to Corsica.
. . . The crowns were surprisingly alike, even to the stones around
the band--and I bethought me of the jeweller I had met in the alley.
But, feeling around the rim of each, I recognized the true one by a
dent it had taken against the _Gauntlet's_ ballast. Quick as
thought, then, I whipped it under my arm, ran back to Bianca, and
thrust it under her cloak as I bent over her.

She lay in a cold swoon. I could not leave her in this horrible
place. . . .

I was lifting her to carry her out into the alley, when--in the
workshop or beyond it--a key grated in a lock; and I raised myself
erect as the Prince Camillo came through the pavilion, humming a
careless tune of opera.

"Hola!" he broke off and called, "Hola, padre, where the devil are
you hiding? And where's the pretty Bianca? . . . O, confusion seize
your puss-in-the-corner! I shall be jealous, I tell you--and br-r-h!
what a mistral of a draught!"

He came into the room rubbing his hands, half scolding, half
laughing, with the drops of melted snow yet shining on his furred
robe from his walk across the garden. I saw him halt on the
threshold and look about him, prepared to call "Hola!" once again.
I saw his eyes fall on the corpse dangling from the chandelier, fix
themselves on it, and slowly freeze. I saw him take one tottering
step forward; and then, from an alcove, Marc'antonio and Stephanu
stepped quietly out and posted themselves between him and retreat.

"It will be best done quietly," said Marc'antonio. "The Cavalier,
there"--he pointed to me--"has the true crown, and will carry it to
good keeping. You will pardon us, O Cavalier, that we were forced to
tell the Princess an untruth this evening; but right is right, and we
could not permit her to interfere."

In all my life I have never seen such a face as the Prince turned
upon us, knowing that he must die. The face grinning from the
chandelier was scarcely less horrible.

He put up a hand to it. "Not he