Adventure Magazine Cover — page 144: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

142 were threatening for their money. And then I saw that Stella had stooped to the littleness of breaking three or four inches from the yardstick. That, what with my disgust with things in general, was the last straw. I made to rush forth into the night without hat or cloak, and Stella cried out pite- ously— “Oh, Francesco, where art thou going?” “Where I should have gone in the beginning!” I shouted—“‘to join the duke’s guard.” MY FIRST assignment in the duke’s service was not entirely to my taste, and you shall judge why. There was a certain wealthy count that the duke wished to marry to his sister, the Countess Anita (her former marriage being since annulled). Now this nobleman was enamoured of a famous courtezan. It fell to me to convince her that it were best for her to depart from the realms of Rometia. CHAPTER IX OF THE DUKE’S SERVICE IS Grace was in his cabinet, writing, we were told, when we had passed the low postern at the rear of the palace, the guard-room, the sentinels on the stair, and came, as on that night long ago, to the corridor where the password was demanded. The captain of the guard himself was on duty here, this being the duke’s first night at home, and attempts at assassination more likely than usual, for that he would have reminded mal- contents of his existence during the pomps of that afternoon; what I would say here, though, is that I stood astonished that my officer, looking me in the eyes, appeared never to have seen me before. Worse remained behind. “Retain your prisoner until I return, Sergeant,’’ says he, clanking away. “Aye, Captain.” “Prisoner?” I gasped; and Lucio squeezed my wrist viciously, until the officer had turned in at the door of the cabinet. “°Tis but the duke’s mode of keeping his skirts clean, fool!’’ he whispered, too low to be heard by the guards who stood staring at us. ‘Since thou’st done well, there’s noth- ing to fear.” “But—” I began. ‘Sssh!’’ “The prisoner forward!” came the cap- tain’s voice; and so for the second time I came face to face with Alessandro I; dressed now in black, and looking older and wearier than when I had seen him before. F, R. BUCKLEY I forced my way inte her castle through a balcony, and after some warm sword play with her guards, during which I killed two of them and received a slight cut myself, I brought the woman to terms, and she sent the writhing, rat-faced little worm of a count about his business. I gave her a parchment with an order for twenty thousand ducats from the duke. Thereupon the wanton made sheep’s eyes at me, but I would have none of her. “Go home then to thy milk and water,” she jeered. So I rode home. I went to Sergeant Lucio’s quarters in the citadel, and being worn out, and stiffened of my wound, I slept long and deep. I awoke when a great voice rumbled in my ear. ““What?” I asked sleepily. 3 ‘Arise, Francesco,” roared the pink-bearded Lucio, ‘‘and on the instant! The duke demands to see thee.” At this meeting he kept me not in sus- pense, but on my entry pushed away his writing, dismissed the captain forthright and, fixing his black eyes on me, de- manded— “Well?” Before I could speak, a smile twisted one corner of his mouth. “Cast not thy speech in the form of de- fense against a charge,” says the duke, raising a hand to shade his brows. “It would be amusing, but I doubt thou hast the wits for the illusion. Therefore tell thy story plainly; there is no crime laid to thee, and shall not be, an thou hast done well— She was at home?” “Yes, sire.” “Received thee?” “‘No—yes, sire. I—climbed a tree.” Again I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “And then?” “She accepted your Grace’s offer—”’ “Twenty thousand crowns?” “Yes, Sire.” “To absent herself permanently from my domain to a distance of not less than fifty leagues?” “The sergeant did not tell me that con- dition, sire; but she said she would retire to Naples.” “H’m. Good— low? Wounded?” “Yes, sire.” “In this affair? God’s body, hast lost thy tongue? Who wounded thee? One of her fellows?”’ “No, sire. My lord the count shot me in the shoulder with a pistolet.”’ Why, what’s this, fel- NOOK (©