"You are in an evil humor to-day, friend Lind; you have caught the
English spleen. Come, I have a little business to do over at Murano; the
breeze will do you good. And I will tell you the story of my escape."

The time had to be passed somehow. Lind walked with his companion along
to the steps, descended, and jumped into a gondola, and presently they
were shooting out into the turbulent green water that the wind drove
against the side of the boat in a succession of sharp shocks. Seated in
the little funereal compartment, they could talk without much fear of
being heard by either of the men; and Calabressa began his tale. It was
not romantic. It was simply a case of bribery; the money to effect which
had certainly not come out of Calabressa's shallow pockets. In the
midst of the story--or, at least, before the end of it--Lind said, in a
low voice,

"Calabressa, have you any sure grounds for what you said about
Zaccatelli?"

His companion glanced quickly outside.

"It is you are now indiscreet," he said, in an equally low voice. "But
yes; I think that is the business. However," he added, in a gayer tone,
"what matter? To-day is not to-morrow; to-morrow will shift for itself."
And therewith he continued his story, though his listener seemed
singularly preoccupied and thoughtful.

They arrived at the island, got out, and walked into the court-yard of
one of the smaller glass-works. There were one or two of the workmen
passing; and here something occurred that seemed to arrest Lind's
attention.