that all was clear for my escape. But I had forgotten this
strange city in which I was. Every house is an island. As I
flung open the door, ready to bound out into the street, the
light of the hall shone upon the deep, still, black water which
lay flush with the topmost step.

I shrank back, and in an instant my pursuers were on me.

But I am not taken so easily. Again I kicked and fought my way
through them, though one of them tore a handful of hair from my
head in his effort to hold me. The little steward struck me with
a key and I was battered and bruised, but once more I cleared a
way in front of me.

Up the grand staircase I rushed, burst open the pair of huge
folding doors which faced me, and learned at last that my efforts
were in vain.

The room into which I had broken was brilliantly lighted. With
its gold cornices, its massive pillars, and its painted walls and
ceilings it was evidently the grand hall of some famous Venetian
palace. There are many hundred such in this strange city, any
one of which has rooms which would grace the Louvre or
Versailles. In the centre of this great hall there was a raised
dais, and upon it in a half circle there sat twelve men all clad
in black gowns, like those of a Franciscan monk, and each with a
mask over the upper part of his face.

A group of armed men--rough-looking rascals--were standing round
the door, and amid them facing the dais was a young fellow in the