He stepped briskly to the coarse and grease-stained table, about which
the company was standing, and his black eyes ran swiftly over the faces
that confronted him.

"Sirs," he said at last, "I am here. My horse went lame a half-league
beyond Sant' Angelo, and I was constrained to end the journey on foot."

"Your Excellency will be tired," cried Fabrizio, with that ready
solicitude which is ever at the orders of the great. "A cup of Puglia
wine, my lord. Here, Fanfulla," he called, to the young nobleman who had
acted as usher. But the new-comer silenced him and put the matter aside
with a gesture.

"Let that wait. Time imports as you little dream. It may well be,
illustrious sirs, that had I not come thus I had not come at all."

"How?" cried one, expressing the wonder that rose in every mind, even as
on every countenance some consternation showed. "Are we betrayed?"

"If you are in case to fear betrayal, it may well be, my friends. As I
crossed the bridge over the Metauro and took the path that leads hither,
my eyes were caught by a crimson light shining from a tangle of bushes by
the roadside. That crimson flame was a reflection of the setting sun
flashed from the steel cap of a hidden watcher. The path took me nearer,
and with my hat so set that it might best conceal my face, I was all
eyes. And as I passed the spot where that spy was ambushed, I discerned
among the leaves that might so well have screened him, but that the sun
had found his helmet out, the evil face of Masuccio Torri." There was a
stir among the listeners, and their consternation increased, whilst one