A moment we listened. St. Hilary lighted a cigarette.

“Idiot,” he chuckled, “to intrude on a doting couple. There might have been kisses, who knows?”

“But why did she not recognize you sooner?”

“Because I happen to have a figure that is not unlike her swain’s, I suppose. As to my voice, have I not heard many times the squeak of the noble Conti, and am I not a mimic on occasions?”

“But surely I do not resemble the other noble Conti?”

“In that bulging robe, with that beard and mask, you might be equally an angel of light or the very devil himself. I am glad you had wit enough not to speak.”

“And now?” I asked impatiently.

“After we have slipped the bolt of that little gate in the garden wall over there, we will make our way up the tower and hide until the guests have gone. We dare not trust ourselves in the 254palace again after our escapade. That gate opens on the side street. We shall be glad to avail ourselves of it later.”

We were about to leave the arbor when a Punchinello strolled down the garden path, a poodle at his heels. He was humming a French song, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He passed by a pergola of grapevines without once turning in our direction. Recognizing the dog, I guessed the identity of the clown. It was the man who had been tampering with Pietro’s honesty a night or two before. His presence at the palace was alarming, but I said no word to St. Hilary of my fears. Spies or no spies, I was going to find that casket to-night!

When the garden was again deserted I drew the bolts of the gate, then followed St. Hilary up the steps of the tower. All the guests were at supper, and we met no one.

At the summit of the tower the sides were wide open to the sky. A low parapet ran around the sides. The roof rose to an apex some ten or twelve feet above. Two broad timbers, just out of reach, stretched across the roof. Rusty rings were still embedded in them. In former days this had been a bell-tower. I pointed out the timbers to St. Hilary.

“There is our hiding-place if any one comes. 255Could you reach those beams if I gave you a back?”

He did not answer. He was looking down the dark stairway. He rose and leaped on the parapet.

“It is time to make the attempt. People are coming up the stairs.”

In five seconds we were lying side by side.

“Whatever happens, you must not betray yourself. If you do, remember, you betray me, and you promised to stand by me, no matter what happened.”

I nodded; then, peering over, I saw my mask lying on the bench where I had thrown it down. I pointed it out to St. Hilary.

“Shall I risk jumping down for it?”

“No, no. There is no logical clue between a mask on a bench and two gentlemen playing eavesdroppers a few feet above.”

There was a rustle of silk; a faint sigh of a woman catching her breath; then a ripple of light laughter.

“We are not the first, duke, to enjoy this wonderful view,” cried a clear voice.

I leaned recklessly over. Jacqueline was holding my mask toward Duke da Sestos. And they were alone.

I had just given my promise to St. Hilary, 256but I had not reckoned on this. To leap down now would mean that I must betray him; to remain, that I must listen. I was in an agony of indecision. Again I hesitated, and again I was to pay a bitter penalty.

“Oh, it is worth the climb,” cried Jacqueline enthusiastically. “That blaze of lights is the Piazza San Marco, of course. And the long line to the north?”

“Are the lights of the Riva,” answered the moody voice of the duke.

His tone frightened me. I felt that he was regarding her with burning glances. Jacqueline must have noticed it had she not been enraptured with the fairy scene before her.

“The little splashes of light here and there are the campos, of course. But the Grand Canal! I never dreamed of anything so wonderful. Look, it has just one broad band of moonlight across its gloom. How fearfully tragic it must look on a cloudy night! But now, it is beautiful. And the tiny flickers of dancing light from the lanterns on the gondolas make the effect magical. Is it any wonder that, after all, one is a slave to the beauty of this Venice? Perhaps,” she added dreamily, “one might have more ignoble dreams and ambitions than to live always in the midst of this beauty. I believe 257there is nothing on earth so beautiful as this scene.”

“There is yourself,” a hoarse voice broke in on her revery. “There is yourself, and to-night you are more beautiful and exquisite than the very citadels of Paradise.”

I trembled. It was to come, then, this declaration of love; and I must listen. It was now too late to descend. I could only pray that they would soon go. To my joy, this time Jacqueline did recognize the danger of her lingering.

“And below, what a mass of gondolas! How little did I think that I should ever go to a ball in a gondola! I can not thank you enough for bringing me here. But my aunt is waiting at the next landing. She will be wondering.”

“No,” broke in the duke’s hoarse voice, “she will not.”

“And why not, please?” demanded Jacqueline.

“I have told Mrs. Gordon that I must see you alone. You have avoided me all the evening–all the day–ever since Mr. Hume insulted me by denying that I had found the casket. And now that I have my opportunity it shall not escape me.”

“If my aunt has given you permission to detain me here against my will, she has gone beyond 258her right. That she is not waiting for me makes it still more necessary to descend.”

“You m............