The Rising Storm

ecclesiastical court for the trial of priests who had disgraced their calling. It then occurred to him that the Grand Duke's measure had driven the Inquisi­tion underground and that it still continued to function in secret. But, if so, what possible business could it have with him? Again, he could only suppose that he had been seized in mistake for someone else.

Swiftly, he was disabused of that idea. In the centre of the line of figures one whom Roger took to be the Grand Inquisitor, because he was seated on a larger and slightly higher chair than the others, had already signed to the two men-at-arms to withdraw. As a heavy, nail-studded door closed behind them, he addressed Roger in good but stilted French.

'Monsieur. I regret the steps which have been necessary to bring you before us; but you have suffered no harm; and will suffer none, provided you obey me. It is known to us that you carry a letter from the Queen of France to her brother the Grand Duke. Be good enough to hand it to me, and a guide will be provided to escort you back to your lodging.'

Roger used his lashes to veil his eyes as he stumbled unsteadily to his feet. He could not even guess how the object of his visit to Florence had become known, or what possible reason the Holy Office could have for wanting to get possession of the Queen's letter; but he instantly made up his mind to admit nothing until it transpired how fully informed they really were about his activities.

For a moment he remained silent, so that when he spoke his voice should be as firm as possible. Then, in an attempt to bluff his way out of their clutches, he said:

'Signor. I protest most strongly at your abduction of me. The only excuse there can be for it is that your bravos mistook me for some other person. I demand that you release me at once, or His Highness the Grand Duke shall hear of it; and I am told that he is swift to punish such of his subjects as molest foreign visitors in his capital.'

'You use bold words, young man,' said the central figure quietly, 'but they will gain you nothing. Your threat is an empty one; and it seems that I must give you a word of caution. It would not be the first time that this tribunal has decreed death for those who oppose its will. There is an oubliette less than a hundred feet from where you stand and in the past few centuries many bodies have gone down it to be swept away by the undercurrents of the Arno. These old Florentine cellars keep their secrets well, and unless you wish to add to their number you will say no more of making complaint to His Highness. Now; give me the letter that you carry.'

Roger paled slightly under his tan. The cellar was lit only by two three-branched candlesticks, each placed near one end of the long table; the corners of the room were full of shadows and the row of black, hooded figures in front of him had no resemblance to normal human beings. They sat unmoving, with their black-gloved hands folded before them on the table. Only the eyes, seen through the slits in their hoods, showed that they lived and were regarding him with cold, impassive curiosity.

In such surroundings it was difficult to make himself believe that their spokesman was trying only to frighten him; yet he strove to do so, by calling to mind that however horrible the fate to which the Inquisi­tion had condemned its victims in the old days, it had never, as far as he knew, practised secret murder. All the same, he found that his lips had suddenly gone dry, and he had to moisten them with the tip of his tongue before saying a trifle hoarsely:

'I repeat, Signor, you have made an error concerning me. I carry no letter from the Queen of France, and know nothing of one.'

'Yet you are the Chevalier de Breuc, are you not?'

Feeling that as they were aware of his identity it would prejudice his chances to deny it, Roger replied: 'I am; and I am recently arrived from France. But my sole reason for coming here is to see the beauties and art treasures of your city.'

'Monsieur, it will go ill with you if you continue to trifle with us. At the time of your arrest tonight you were on your way to an audience with Monsignor Scipione Ricci, and your object in seeking an audience was to hand him this letter. You cannot deny that.'

'I do.' Roger answered with a modicum of truth; for he had had no intention of surrendering the letter to anyone other than the Grand Duke, and had meant only to approach the Minister as the most suitable person to secure him a private audience with the Sovereign.

'What, then, were you doing in the streets of Florence at an hour approaching midnight?' asked the spokesman of the nine.

Roger shrugged, and tried to look a little sheepish. 'I am young and have the natural inclination of my years towards gallantry. As I have not the acquaintance of any ladies in your city I thought I would go out, on the chance that on so fine a summer night I might come upon some fair one seated at her window or on a balcony, who would feel inclined to take compassion on me.'

It was a good, plausible lie; but the nine pairs of eyes continued to regard him with cold, calculating suspicion, and the spokesman said: 'Upon the information we have received I cannot believe you. I should be reluctant to put you to the indignity of a forced search; but we intend to have that letter. For the last time, I bid you give it me.'

'Search me if you will, Signor.' Roger spread out his hands in a little foreign gesture that he had picked up in France during his youth. 'But you will not find this letter you seek, for I have not got it.'

The principal Inquisitor spoke in Italian to the hooded figures at each extremity of the table. Obediently they stood up, came over to Roger, and spent some minutes searching him with considerable thoroughness. Raising his arms he submitted quietly, knowing that their labours would be in vain.

As they returned to the table empty-handed he felt a new confidence in his prospects. Now that their information had been proved to be incorrect he had a fair hope that they would accept his statement that he was not the man they were looking for, and release him.

But his hopes were doomed to disappointment. The spokesman picked up a small silver hand-bell that stood in front of him and rang it. The door opened and one of the men in leather jerkins appeared. An order was given and the door closed again. For a few minutes Roger remained facing the line of sinister, black-clad figures while complete silence reigned. He wondered anxiously what this last move foreboded. Did they mean to let him go; or would they consider it necessary to protect themselves from his reporting the manner in which he had been attacked to the authorities, and take measures to ensure that he should never have the chance to do so ? Involuntarily a shiver ran down his spine.

The door opened once more. A new figure entered. It was that of a man in a long-skirted coat of bright-blue satin. He wore no mask and, having bowed in the doorway, advanced carrying his three-cornered hat under his arm. Even before the newcomer had emerged far enough from the shadows for his features to be seen distinctly Roger recognized him. It was de Roubec.

Instantly now, Roger realized what had led to his being in his present plight. On finding Isabella's reinforced escort too much for him the lantern-jawed Chevalier had not given up the game and returned to Paris, as they had supposed. Instead, he must have decided to take the direct overland route via Chambery, Turin and Milan to Florence, in order to await their arrival there; and only then, when they were off their guard, make another attempt to secure the Queen's letter before it could be delivered to her brother. The only thing that Roger could not understand was how the rapscallion adventurer had managed to inveigle the Holy Inquisition into pulling his chestnuts out of the fire for him.

De Roubec took a few more paces- forward, bowed again to the sinister tribunal; then, with a mocking smile, to Roger.

Controlling his fury with an effort, Roger not only refrained from returning the bow, but met the Chevalier's glance with cold indifference, as though he had never set eyes on him before.

The spokesman of the hooded men addressed de Roubec. 'The prisoner admits that he is Monsieur le Chevalier de Breuc, but denies all knowledge of the letter. Are you quite certain that you have made no mistake, and that this is the man that you required us to arrest ?'

'It is indeed, Monsiegneur. I know him too well to be mistaken.'

'He has been searched and the letter is not on him.'

De Roubec gave Roger a suspicious glance. 'Perhaps, Monseigneur, he did not after all intend to deliver it tonight.'

'Our information that he had been bidden to wait upon Monsignor Ricci at a half hour after eleven came from