The sun was just tipping the dome of the Salute as I fell asleep in my chair. My compact with St. Hilary promised great things. It meant action–a fascinating clue to follow, whether it led us to the jewels of the Doge or not. And if this dry chronicle of the past should prove to be no colorless legend, but a living fact, palpitating with human interest, I should have material for a book indeed. A legend of the Renaissance reincarnated in the twentieth century–that must appeal to Jacqueline no less than to me. Besides, the solving of this mystery, if solution there were, or the proving it to be but an empty fable, would certainly demand those qualities she believed I lacked so sadly. In everything this quest must be to my advantage.

It was eight o’clock before I could get St. Hilary into a gondola. As we were rowed rapidly to the Molo, an indescribable elation of spirits buoyed me up. Three years had slipped from my shoulders–three years of inertia and weariness. I was happy, and I did not play the fool and analyze too deeply my happiness.

94Perhaps the warm, delicious breeze that came in puffs, laden with the scent of oleanders and roses from the royal gardens, had its influence; and the deep-blue sky, with the pearly clouds drifting slowly over San Giorgios, and the glorious sun, flashing on every tip and spire, and reflected silver-gray and rose-colored in the millions of little waves that danced and sparkled in a very ecstasy of color. For the rain had ceased. The sullen clouds were gone; the muddy streams; the discolored damp stones. Venice was again the enchanted city of fairy architecture, floating in the intangible air.

One would have thought it difficult to believe this wonderful story in the full light of day, on the Piazza here, flooded with sun, with the gondoliers smoking and breaking out into snatches of song, with the tourists already astir, and the guides from San Marco’s already on the alert for them. Last night in my chambers, with the curtains drawn and the lights of Venice shining mystically in the distance, there might have been an excuse for one’s imagination getting a little the better of one. But with the morning should have come sober skepticism. I can only say that there were two reasons that forbade that: one that I wished to believe; the other, that St. Hilary did believe.

95A dozen steps on the Piazzetta, and we saw that Marruchi was not yet opened, so we strolled toward Florian’s for our morning coffee. As we passed under the Arcade, St. Hilary paused at a bookseller’s shop beneath the Libreria Vecchia. I noticed carelessly in passing that the window was filled with copies of a book just published.

“Have you looked into that book yet?” asked St. Hilary, as he bowed to the bookseller within.

“No,” I answered, taking my seat at one of the round tables. “I did not even read its title.”

“It is called Annali dell’ Inquisizione in Venezia. It was published about a month ago. Organia and Rosen have had it in their windows for a fortnight at least.”

“I have no doubt that that fact has some pertinency,” I said irritably. “But before you explain just in what way, suppose you answer a few questions that naturally occurred to me while you were asleep in my chair last night.”

“Well?”

“Why the deuce do you want me to go to St. Petersburg? Why do you intend going to Amsterdam? How did you come to know about the Diary of Sanudo? How did you guess that the clock was in the da Sestos palace? Or did you not guess? Surely we are not the first to attempt 96to solve the secret of the hours? And even if no one has yet attempted it (and that seems incredible), is it not possible that the clock may be beyond repair, so that we can not fathom the significance of the automata, if there be any significance? And, lastly, how do you know that you have the clock?”

“If you had read that book in the shop there, some of your questions might have been answered,” retorted St. Hilary placidly.

I held the coffee-pot suspended in mid-air. “It mentions the clock?”

“It does.”

“Then it’s there for all the world to read–the duke, for instance!”

The thought was rather startling.

“I suppose so. Had I known before I saw you last night that you were to be my criminal partner in pursuit of the casket and the gems, I should have brought that book as well as the Diary which I happened to have in my pocket. As it is, you might just step over to Rosen’s and buy a copy. You will find it an amusing book during your long journey to St. Petersburg.”

I looked at him with some annoyance.

“You take so much for granted,” I remonstrated. “I shall need some persuasion. You 97know, I suppose, that it’s quite necessary for me to get a passport to travel in Russia. And as to our criminal pursuit, I take it that findings are keepings.”

“Very true,” he answered, looking at me cynically. “Beatrice, who wore some of our gems when she went into that cathedral over there, is dust these four hundred years and more. The line of the D’Estes and Sforzas is extinct. There is not a man or woman in Venice or Italy who may boast that a drop of the Doge’s blood runs in their veins. Legally, I suppose, the state––”

“Oh, the state!” I sniffed contemptuously. “I don’t mind putting my claims against the state!”

“Brave man! But let me remind you, my squeamish friend, that it may be necessary for you and me to use the jimmy before we get possession of those gems. Do you think we shall find them on the pavement? Hardly! They are hidden in one of these hundreds of palaces, and they............