A light of satisfaction gleamed now in Gian Maria's eyes.

"So you know it!" he exclaimed. "You no longer protest your ignorance,
but only that you cannot tell me. Up with him, Martino."

In a last pitiable struggle against the inevitable, the fool broke from
his guards, and flung himself towards the door. One of the burly Swiss
caught him by the neck in a grip that made him cry out with pain. Gian
Maria eyed him with a sinister smile, and Martin proceeded to fasten one
end of the rope to his pinioned wrists. Then they led him, shivering to
the great bed. The other end of the cord was passed over one of the
bared arms of the canopy-frame. This end was grasped by the two men-at-
arms. Martin stood beside the prisoner. The Duke flung himself into a
great carved chair, an air of relish now investing his round, pale face.

"You know what is about to befall you," he said, in tones of chilling
indifference. "Will you speak before we begin?"

"My lord," said the fool, in a voice that terror was throttling, "you are
a good Christian, a loyal son of Mother Church, and a believer in the
eternal fires of hell?"

A frown settled on Gian Maria's brow. Was the fool about to intimidate
him with talk of supernatural vengeance?

"Thus," Peppe continued, "you will perhaps be merciful when I confess my
position. I made most solemn oath to the man I met at Acquasparta on
that luckless day, that I would never reveal his identity. What am I to
do? If I keep my oath, you will torture me to death perhaps. If I break