all
eyes, and had I been Argus himself I could have kept no better watch.
Meanwhile I plied my tongue and maintained as merry a conversation with
Ser Stefano as you could wish to hear, for he seemed a ready-witted
knave of a most humorous turn of fancy--God rest his rascally soul! And
so it came to pass that I did by him the very thing he sought to do by
me; I lulled him into a careless confidence.

At last the sign I had been waiting for was given. I saw it as plainly
as if it had been meant for me; I believe I saw it before the man for
whom it was intended, and but for my fears concerning Madonna Paola, I
could have laughed outright at their clumsy assurance. The man who rode
on Madonna's right turned in his saddle and put up his hand as if to
beckon Stefano. I was regaling him with one of the choicest of Messer
Sacchetti's paradoxes, gurgling, myself, at the humour of the thing I
told. I paid no heed to the sign. I continued to expound my quip, as
though we had the night before us in which to make its elusive humour
clear. But out of the tail of my eye I watched my good friend Stefano,
and I saw his right hand steal round to the region of his back where
I knew his dagger to be slung. Yet was I patient. There should be no
blundering through an excessive precipitancy. I talked on until I saw
that my suspicions were amply realised. I caught the cold gleam of steel
in the hand that he brought back as stealthily as he had carried it to
his poniard. Sant' Iddio! What a coward he was for all his bulk, to go
so slyly about the business of stabbing a poor, helpless, defenceless
Fool.

"But Sacchetti makes his point clear," I babbled on, most blandly;
"almost as clear, as comprehensive and as penetrating as should be to
you the point of this." And with a swift movement I swung half-round in
my saddle, and sank my dagger to the hilt in his side even as he was in
the act of raising his.

He made no sound beyond the faintest gurgle--the first vowel of a
suddenly choked word of wonder and surprise. He rocked a second in his
saddle, then crashed over, and lay with arms flung wide, like a huge
black crucifix, upon the white ground. At the same moment a piercing
scream broke from Madonna Paola.

I tremble still to think what might have been her fate had not those
ruffians who had laid hands on her fallen into the sorry error of
holding their single adversary too lightly. They heard the thud of the
gallant Stefano's fall, and th