92“It is more than fair.”

92

“That’s settled then. And now let us have a look at your clock.”

“Marruchi, the clock-maker on the Piazza, has it. I left it with him to see if it could be repaired.”

He settled himself in the armchair, and pulled a rug over his knees.

“Marruchi, my boy, will be able to do nothing with it. It is a job above his caliber. And now to sleep, to sleep. You and I have a long journey ahead of us to-morrow.”

“A journey? Where?”

“I shall be off to Amsterdam; you, to St. Petersburg. Good night.”

“St. Petersburg?” I demanded stormily. “St. Petersburg! Why the devil St. Petersburg?”

But St. Hilary was already asleep–or pretended to be.

93

CHAPTER IX

The sun was just tipping the dome of the Salute as I fell asleep in my chair. My compact with St. Hilary promised great things. It meant action–a fascinating clue to follow, whether it led us to the jewels of the Doge or not. And if this dry chronicle of the past should prove to be no colorless legend, but a living fact, palpitating with human interest, I should have material for a book indeed. A legend of the Renaissance reincarnated in the twentieth century–that must appeal to Jacqueline no less than to me. Besides, the solving of this mystery, if solution there were, or the proving it to be but an empty fable, would certainly demand those qualities she believed I lacked so sadly. In everything this quest must be to my advantage.

It was eight o’clock before I could get St. Hilary into a gondola. As we were rowed rapidly to the Molo, an indescribable elation of spirits buoyed me up. Three years had slipped from my shoulders–three years of inertia and weariness. I was happy, and I did not play the fool and analyze too deeply my happiness.

94Perhaps the warm, delicious breeze that came in puffs, laden with the scent of oleanders and roses from the royal gardens, had its 

 Prev. P 50/162 next