Avon Modern Short Story Monthly #36 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

a HISTORICAL NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENT Gandia drew rein. He announced to the others that he went no farther with them, summoned a single groom to attend him, and bade the remainder return to the Vatican and await him there. There was a last jest and a laugh from Cesare as the cavalcade went on towards the papal palace. Then Gandia turned to the man in the mask, bade him get up on the crupper of his horse, and so rode slowly off in the direction of the Giudecca, the single attendant he had retained trotting beside his stirrup. Giovanni directed his brother-in-law, not to the main entrance of the house, but to the garden gate, which opened upon a narrow alley. Here they dismounted, flinging the reins to the groom, who was ushered the Duke into the gloom of the garden, A stone staircase ran up to the loggia on the mezzanine, and by this way was Gandia now conducted, treading softly. His guide went ahead. He had pro- vided himself with yet another key, and so unlocked the door from the loggia which opened upon the ante-room of Madonna Antonia. He held the door for the Duke, who hesitated, seeing all in darkness. whe “t “ > > =~ a ene >. ~Saanee oi ¢ a > vat ~4 . e “ ye ' » b ’ pete? 2 ma” ts - na > "i . ‘iy - tA! = pan a a I “. ° ~~ p ss - a ‘ “ae ' rT ~ y * “ a -- Se Wih« tr eS ers nal 2¥4: Fre, peta | < > cacy Woo LW a2 : 2 ote me Siete ae (ot li Ks ? = pas. ———_ ee _ bidden to wait. Giovanni produced a key, unlocked the door, and “In,” Giovanni bade him. “Tread softly. Madonna waits for you.” — Recklessly, then, that unsuspecting fellow stepped into the trap. Giovanni followed, closed the door, and locked it. The Duke, standing with quickened pulses in that impenetrable blackness, found himself suddenly embraced, not at all after the fond fashion he was expecting, A wrestler’s arms enlaced his body, a sinewy leg coiled itself snake-wise about one of his own, pulling it from under him. As he crashed down under the weight of his unseen opponent, a great voice boomed out: “Lord of Mirandola! To me! Help! Thieves!” Suddenly a door opened. Light flooded the gloom, and the writh- ing Duke beheld a white vision of the girl whose beauty had been the lure that had drawn him into this peril which, as yet, he scarcely understood. But looking up into the face of the man who grappled with him, the man who held him there supine under his weight, he began at last to understand, or, at least, to suspect, for the face he saw, unmasked now, leering at him with hate unspeakable through the cloud of golden hair that half met across it, was the face of Gio- vanni Sforza, Lord of Pesaro, whom his family had so cruelly GComicbooks co nerd i Fas he kr ae > © uh oo eS ep oe. - =. . Pd ’ —_ “4A « ~ NE > eS eee eae oie ‘i < : ie. Say at . ~* ad — dw - 4 : en =. Leese Ress fe < eos rs — ie A ee ENT nO SN OR t oa ene ace