The Viper of Milan. Bowen Marjorie

At a whisper from his sister he went meekly, Visconti's mad eyes on him the while.

      A terrible silence fell.

      Valentine steadied herself against the arras. She was thankful to see Tisio go—alive. To ask why the jewel Tisio had fondled had so angered Gian was beyond her daring. "He is possessed," she murmured to herself.

      With an unpleasant laugh Visconti turned to her.

      "Didst thou urge him to flaunt me with this?" he asked.

      "Flaunt thee?" said Valentine. "How should I know a toy like that could rouse such fury?"

      The Duke looked at her keenly, and crushed the bracelet together in his hand.

      "As I say, thou darest me far because thou art worth something to my plans—but I have the power, and I keep it."

      She was silent, and he turned to pass back into his own room. But at the same moment Giannotto spoke. He had entered unobserved, and drew near his master with an obsequious movement.

      But Visconti met him with a snarl.

      "I will see no one! Did I not say so? Take care, Giannotto, lest I see thee too often."

      The secretary paled, but kept his composure. He had learned that to shrink before Visconti only served to arouse him the more.

      "I would merely say, my lord," he remarked, "Alberic da Salluzzo awaits further orders."

      "Hath he found the Count?" flashed Visconti.

      "My lord, no; nor trace of him, unless these parchments be one."

      "Thou hast another there?"

      Giannotto, bowing low, handed Visconti a packet. His head was bent, his eyes downcast, and the smile that flickered over his thin lips unseen.

      "This, my lord, was brought in by one of Alberic's men—found an hour since outside the gates of Count Conrad's villa."

      It was sealed, and inscribed with the Visconti's name.

      Visconti seized it, and Giannotto, stepping back, watched furtively his furious face.

      Gian looked at the packet. There was no attempt to disguise the writing. It was the same as that upon the parchment Valentine had given him with its brief threat: "Della Scala lives," and the seal of it was the Ladder of the Scaligeri. Long Visconti fingered it in silence, then remembering he was not alone, glanced wrathfully up to see that Valentine was watching him with a faint smile of scorn, and that Giannotto, for all his downcast head, waited with eyes keen with expectation. But Visconti curbed himself. To have the mastery of others he must keep the mastery of himself.

      "Giannotto," he said, and the secretary started as if a whip had touched him, "thou wilt see to it that Da Salluzzo searches Milan and all Lombardy—that he spares neither treasure nor blood—and that he brings to me dead, or living, Count Conrad von Schulembourg, and the writer of these parchments."

      With an obeisance Giannotto went, in silence, and Visconti slowly broke the seal of the packet. Then he turned to Valentine.

      "Art thou waiting to see if it contains a message from thy Conrad?" he said fiercely. "Have no fear! Thou shalt see his head ere night."

      She shuddered before the taunt, and turned to leave him. It was always the same; let her meet Visconti with never so high courage, she left him quelled, discomfited, dismayed.

      "Go!" shouted Visconti, in sudden fury, and she stayed no longer to question or defy.

      Carrying the half-opened packet and the parchment, Visconti re-entered his private room. It was dark and silent; no sound from within or without broke its deserted gloom.

      He was alone, nor was he like to be disturbed. Seating himself, not without a furtive glance over his shoulder, he looked at the writing again, the writing and the seal, then opened the packet.

      A roll of parchment, close writ, strangely stained in places a reddish brown, fell with a rattle on the floor. Visconti started back, he stared at it, uttered a hoarse sound, stooped and picked it up. The parchment was inscribed with poetry. Here and there among the stains a line was readable.