The Clock and the Key

tters had been barred for something more than half a century. Other palaces are closed for a year–for ten years. But for fifty years no butcher or baker boy had pulled the rusty bell-rope a

es, still proud in their very decrepitude, crowned with the corno and adorned with the da Sestos coat of arm

d and white marble flags. A bat, blinded by the sudden light, swirled about the hall in circles. Mrs. Gordon shivered and clutch

y and the yellow-stained well-curb. On either side of the hall were stone benches, and over each long seat the da Sestos coat of arms again, the strange insignia of a protruding hand clasping a huge key. Doors to the right and left led to the Magazzin

r to a long succession of 31small reception-rooms, leading one out of the other. Luigi tremblingly unlocked

candle shone pale in the light of day. He pushed open a window, and a faint breeze touched our cheeks. One breathed again

from master to dealer in troubled amazement and indignation. At last the noble room stood revealed. The little frivolous company of smartly dr

upported by four elaborately carved winged goddesses. There were antique Spanish and Italian cabinets of tortoise-shell and ivory and ebony. At either end of the room were two cavernous fireplaces, the pilasters covered with exquisitely carved cherubs and Raphaelesque scrolls. Vases of verde; trousseau-chests of e

old room has had its chairs and tables standing

I you, it would sadden me to sell at a price these dumb things to that ter

ngs that are as strange to me as to you? They 33have only recently become mine, and that

eps of the dealer, replacing the

cy is to sell this

Venetian of our name. He never set foot in this palace, I am told. He lived abroad. The traditions of these Venetians were not his. Nor are they

ll arrive far,” said

drink, to flirt–that is their dream of happiness. They are rocked to sleep in their wonderful gondolas. They drift on the smooth surface of thei

and perhaps unconscio

e duke noticed it as well as myself. As he led the way through the reception-rooms, he stare

should peer and pry. It was his business, I suppose, to finger brocades, to try the springs of chairs. But there was not a trousseau-chest whose cover he did not lift, an armoire or

faction. He turned to Mrs. Gordon. We

eatrice d’Este. It is true that I can not 35show you the jewels. Nor the casket that contained

is cane a steel chest tha

e this?” asked Mrs. Gord

ver. On it was engraved: “Gi

or the jewels!” exclaimed Mrs.

of history,” rep

hat is this about a da Sesto

of the D’Este gems. As a matter of fact, they did not merely disappear, Mrs. Gordon. T

ine?” cried the d

Hilary coolly. “He was the first Venetian of his name to b

of my family, Mr. St. Hilary. It is strange that

n. As to the casket, it is a curiosity, and a matter of history. There are few curiosities in the

ten me as to this strang

f an hour to smoke a cigar with me at Florian’s.” Then he turned to old Luigi, w

owed. “Everyt

, where do

wn the handle an

e you looking for the gems you have been romancing

ances. He was fingering the tapestries. The 37duke

e some souvenir of our delightful afternoon. I am reluctant to let the terrible American have everything. Shall

la, old Luigi leading the way. Myse

he absolutely disappeared. I walked the full length of th

. St. Hilary emerged from behind it. He glanced around the room an instant, and then,

d. I lifted the tapestry in my tur

to the pressure of my hand

struck a match. But before I could explore the interior, the tapestry was

e?” he demanded with an anxiety th

had shown all the

annoyed if he sees you here,

voice, and the duke entere

this is deliciously mysterious. So you h

palace,” added Mrs. Gordon. “Now if you have fou

he discovery that it is nothing but a bare chamber,” cri

,” I said calmly. “I have merel

naturally interested 39in curio

ace is rather extraordinary–even for a

he lighted candle

rchives of the Frari, you would know that the Inquisition of Venice had pla

e,” said old Luigi unconcernedly

the dealer, pushing

oking at him keenly. “What

imed Jacqueline.