piteously and incessantly. Martin glanced questioningly at
Gian Maria, and his eyes very plainly inquired whether they had not
better cease. But Gian Maria paid no heed to him.

"Will that suffice you?" he asked the fool. "Will you speak now?"

But the fool's only answer was a moan, whereupon again, at the Duke's
relentless signal, he was swung aloft. But at the terror of a fourth
drop, more fearful than any of its three predecessors, he awoke very
suddenly to the impossible horror of his position. That this agony would
endure until he died or fainted, he was assured. And since he seemed
incapable of either fainting or dying, suffer more he could not. What
was heaven or hell to him then that the thought of either could efface
the horror of this torture and strengthen him to continue to endure the
agony of it? He could endure no more--no, not to save a dozen souls if
he had had them:

"I'll speak," he screamed. "Let me down, and you shall have his name,
Lord Duke."

"Pronounce it first, or the manner of your descent shall be as the
others."

Peppe passed his tongue over his bleeding lips, hung still and spoke.

"It was your cousin," he panted, "Francesco del Falco, Count of Aquila."

The Duke stared at him a moment, with startled countenance and mouth
agape.

"You are telling me the truth, animal?" he demanded, in a quivering
voice. "It was the Count of Aquila who was wounded and whom Monna
Valentina tended?"

"I swear it," answered the fool. "Now, in the name of God and His
blessed saints, let me down."

For a moment yet he was held there, awaiting Gian Maria's signal. The
Duke continued to eye him with that same astonished look, what time he
turned over in his mind the news he had gathered. Then conviction of the
truth sank into his mind. It was the Lord of Aquila who was the idol
of the Babbianians. What, then, more natural than that the conspirators
should have sought to place him on the throne they proposed to wrest
from Gian Maria? He dubbed himself a fool that he had not guessed so
much before.

"Let him down," he curtly bade his men. "Then take him hence, and let
him go with God. He has served his purpose."

Gently they lowered him, but when his feet touched the ground he was
unable to stand. His legs doubled under him, and he lay--a little
crook-backed heap--upon the rushes of the floor. His senses had deserted
him.

At a sign from Armstadt the two men picked him up and carried him out
between