on his lap lay the
Medici boots.

It was high noon when they found him, and the sun was streaming
through the stained-glass window above the chair and picking at the
amethysts, so that the violet stones seemed to eye Marthe, the old
housekeeper, with an impudent glitter. Marthe muttered a prayer and
crossed herself, before she ran like a scared rabbit with the news of
the master's death.

[Illustration: "She imparted to me those terrible secrets of the Black
Arts which were deep in her soul."]

Silas Dickerson's only surviving relatives, the three young
Delameters, did not take too seriously the note which was found among
the papers in the museum's desk. Old Silas had written the note. It
was addressed to John Delameter, for John was his uncle's favorite,
but John's pretty wife, Suzanne, and his twin brother, Doctor Eric,
read it over his shoulder; and they all smiled tolerantly. Old
Dickerson had written of things incomprehensible to the young moderns:

"The contents of my private museum are yours, John, to do with as you
see fit. Merely as a suggestion, I would say that the Antiquarian
Society would snap up many of the things. A very few are of no
particular value, except to me. One thing I want done, however. The
Medici boots of ivory leather must either be destroyed or be put for
ever under glass in a _public_ museum. I prefer that they be
destroyed, for they are a dangerous possession. They have gone to the
adulterous rendezvous celebrated in the scandalous verses of Lorenzo
the Magnificent. They have shod the feet of a murderess. They were
cursed by the Church as trappings of the Devil, inciting the wearer to
foul deeds and intrigue.

"I shall not disturb you with all their hideous history, but I repeat,
they are a dangerous possession. I have taken care to keep them under
lock and key, behind plate glass, for more than fifty years. I have
never taken them out. Destroy the Medici boots, before they destroy
you!"

"But he did take them out!" cried Suzanne. "Uncle was holding the
boots when--when Marthe found him there in the museum."

John reread the note, and looked thoughtfully at his young wife. "Yes.
Perhaps he was preparing to destroy them right then. Of course, I
think the poor old fellow took things a bit too seriously--he was very
old, you know, and Marthe says he practically lived in this museum of
his."

"And why call a pair of old boots dangerous? Of course, we all know
the Medicis were plent