But to Fra Giovanni, his near
kinsman, I say beware, for there are those here who have sworn he
shall not live to say Mass again."
For an instant a strange light came into the priest's eyes. But he
gave no other sign either of surprise or of alarm.
"They have sworn it--you know their names, Captain?"
"The police do not concern themselves with names, Excellency."
"Which means that you do not know their names, Captain?"
Pietro Falier sighed. This friar never failed to humble him, he
thought. If it were not for the honors which the monk had obtained for
the police since he began his work in Venice, the Captain said that he
would not lift a hand to save him from the meanest bravo in Italy.
"You do not know their names, Captain--confess, confess," continued
the priest, raising his hand in a bantering gesture; "you come to me
with some gossip of the bed-chamber, your ears have been open in
the market-place, and this tittle-tattle is your purchase--confess,
confess."
The Captain flushed as he would have done before no other in all
Venice.
"I do not know their names, Excellency," he stammered; "it is gossip
from the _bravo's_ kitchen. They say that you are to die before Mass
to-morrow. I implore you not to leave this house to-night. We shall
know how to do the rest if you will but remain indoors."
It was an earnest entreaty, but it fell upon deaf ears. The priest
answered by taking a sheet of paper and beginning to write upon it.
"I am indebted to you, Signor Falier," said he, quietly, "and you know
that I am not the man to forget my obligations.
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