deposited my store. It was not a cheerful spot at midnight, the marble staircase flanked by the two colossal figures of the Ebro and Tagus which guarded the approach to the apartments of the Spanish ruler in whose service I had been rash enough to risk my fortune. As I beat a hasty retreat to von Reinhold's quarters with my burden, the sinister influence of my surroundings gained control of me. In the semi-darkness of those echoing passages my misgivings centred to a head. More than ever I felt tempted to fling to the four winds of heaven my hopes of a career, and at whatever cost to forsake this home of duplicity and crime. I was disgusted, sick of the whole business, tired of the whole atmosphere of bloodshed and suspicion.

The gods make puppets of us at such moments. Who can wonder if my pent-up irritation found its vent when, pausing for a second on the threshold, I allowed my glance to wander about the circular oak-panelled chamber which had been assigned to von Reinhold as his quarters! At that late hour I had not expected visitors, still less a visitor in the person of Ercole.

Between me and the so-called nephew of the Cardinal there was little but ill-feeling, and if we had not as yet become involved in open quarrel the fact may be attributed with safety to my own forbearance. But there are times when even patience has its limits, and God knows that I-a scion of as hasty a stock as ever plucked sword from scabbard-have never been wont to pride myself unduly on the possession of that quality. What with his pretty airs and graces, and ill-bred assumption of superiority, the insolent young puppy merited a lesson. He sat lounging in the seat that I had occupied, toying idly with the pearl-drop in his ear as effeminate a bundle of conceit and vanity as ever the sinful luxury of the Court might hope to nurture. One leg cocked daintily across the other, and clad in the extremest mode of foppery, he was the very picture of a coxcomb. The ruddy locks which were a silent

witness to the Tuscan obscurity of his maternal origin hung clustering in perfumed curls about his collar of rare Spanish lace; his clear, untroubled eyes, at once impertinent and innocent, seemed to mirror forth the shallowness of thought which lay behind them; a vacant simper illumined the pink and white of his complexion. In a word, a popinjay, confident in his own wit, perhaps because it was such a little territory to govern.

A popinjay! I am smiling now when I reflect how grossly I deceived myself. Maybe it was because Ercole looked no more of a Neapolitan than I did myself, maybe it was because youth is ever blinded to what lies below the surface. I had yet to discover how great a power for evil-evil, calculating, cunning-may lurk beneath the smiling countenance, the flattering hand-grip of an inhabitant of Naples. With the folly of a fool I thought him a popinjay; and Providence, turning folly to the use of wisdom, repaid both him and me in fullest measure.

As I entered he swung his short mantillo from his shoulder and rose to greet me delicately. I swallowed my indignation as I might, and drawing a chair up to the table glanced with a wealth of meaning in the direction of von Reinhold. But he was busied with the flagon, and pretended to ignore me.

"We were talking," said Ercole sweetly, "of the lamentable odium which you gentlemen of the Guard have incurred among the populace. It will take all my uncle's diplomacy to bring matters straight again if the present crisis continues. Without the assistance of the Church I fear that His Excellency's position would be hardly tenable. Fortunately my uncle's popularity with the lazzaroni was never greater than at this moment. You were present yesterday, were you not, at the dedication of the new shrine to Our Lady of the Carmine? It is strange what difficulty the Viceroy encounters in the collection of the taxes. When the Church asks for offerings there is always a dying penitent of sorts who ungrudgingly bequeaths his

hoardings to us even if, as it happens, the living are too much concerned with the struggle for existence to spare more than the purchase money of a candle. Perhaps, signore, your methods are too violent. Persuasion has been known to work wonders when bloodshed has failed to extract a single ducat."

"The Neapolitans," I said with tartness, "from their cradle are brought up to stealing, and they leave to the Church at their death a portion of that of which they have robbed her in their lifetime."

Ercole's blue eyes were wide open with insolent astonishment.

"Which may be read half-a-dozen ways," he remarked. "Now if I may venture a reasonable explanation of your meaning-"

But at this juncture von Reinhold had uncorked the flagon, and broke in on us impetuously, so that Ercole was satisfied to finish his sentence with a shrug.

"Donnerwetter!" exclaimed my comrade, as the clear golden liquid flowed into the cup. "This is indeed a prize that you have brought us, Kuno. I have not tasted so fine a vintage for a twelvemonth."

He pushed a bumper of the wine to each of us. Ercole raised his goblet carelessly and drank. Then as I watched him he made a wry face, and placed it aside with an affected gesture of disdain.

Von Reinhold leant across the table laughingly. "Brutta bestia!" he cried. "You are no judge, Ercole."

"Of your Rhenish vintages, perhaps not," the boy lisped, with a sly look, half smile, half malice. "We Neapolitans are not in love with your ill-flavoured wines: wines which require to be drunk like medicine at a gulp. In my uncle's cellars we have some old Vesuvio which is to this as nectar is to vinegar. With your permission I will crave leave to send you round a flagon. Cospetto! Once you have tasted it you will not easily forget it."

"I do not presume to doubt your connoisseurship," I said dryly. "In your uncle's cellars are many rare

vintages, such as we poor soldiers could hardly hope to come by as honestly as did your uncle's eminence. Old Antonio Bisacca is, I understand, your purveyor, is he not? Or has he too by this time been induced to transfer his quarters to the dungeons of the Castel Nuovo?"

The words had escaped me almost unawares in my irritation, but I made no effort to withdraw them. Instead, I merely drew myself a trifle stiffer in my seat, for, once uttered, I was resolved that Ercole should understand the sting was meant. Nor in any case was the vintage such as to warrant so churlish a reception at the hands of a self-invited guest. I filled my cup afresh, and, letting the light play through the curves of the Venetian glass, surveyed it critically. Then, disregarding von Reinhold's warning glances, I looked over at the boy as he bent forward with slightly parted lips, and the flush of anger mounting to his temples.

"Who knows?" I exclaimed pointedly. "It may even be that this flagon of Rhenish boasts a prouder ancestry than has fallen to some of the patricians of this city."

But with that von Reinhold sprang from his seat and laid a hand upon my shoulder.

"This has gone far enough," he cried, and whispered to me, "You are mad, Kuno; come away." And he raised the flagon with a gesture of forced merriment. "Ercole, remain where you are. My friend does not know what he is saying. Come, both of you, a toast!

I thrust him on one side, and, waving my hand with more expression than politeness, smiled into his face.

"You were not always wont to be so meek, Wolfram," I said, "when the virtues of our German wines were called in question. Ten thousand devils! It was with the wine-bottle that you fought at Freiburg when you chastised the Frenchman who had the temerity to back his opinion against yours. There was small question of a toast when you brandished the flagon upon that occasion! Has age so withered you that you would see

me mum as a mouse before the puling arrogance of an upstart in his teens ?”

I had pitched the words strongly of set purpose, divining that Ercole had little stomach for the quarrel. And indeed he had opened his mouth more than once before he found utterance to serve him. He was fingering the gold chain about his neck, when of a sudden his lip curled, and with studied deliberation he stared across at me.

"Lieutenant von Striedbeck," he said calmly, "I do not quarrel with a butcher."

The retort sounds simple enough, but to us in Naples it was fraught with meaning, and the words stung to the quick. Even von Reinhold paused for a moment in his pacing of the room, and I heard the indrawn breath which masked his anger.

"Donnerwetter!" he growled, but ere aught further could be said or done a single word had leapt between my teeth and Ercole had thrown his chair back with a cry, while his woman's forehead wrinkled and he flared into an outburst.

"You have the advantage of me, sir, in courtesy as well as in years," he cried, flinging his sword before him on the table. "Von Reinhold, I call you to witness that I have done nothing to provoke this quarrel. There lies my weapon. I am, as you know, no brawler. Still, if the gentleman is anxious, I have no objection on this occasion to braving the anger even of His Eminence. That is," he added sneeringly, "if the gentleman himself has no objection."

I put my hand to my sword to draw it, for by this time I was furious, but von Reinhold came between us like a flash.

"By the Holy Sacrament, there shall be no brawling here!" And he turned on me imploringly. "Don't be a fool, Kuno. Keep quiet. You cannot fight in the Palace. Remember the Cardinal, man, and don't ruin yourself for the sake of a little spleen. That accursed temper of yours will end by being the damnation of us all."