Bellarion squatted upon his bedding, and with blundering fingers, still numb from the thong, he removed his footgear. His wits worked briskly, and it was not at all upon the subject of his escape that they were busy. Despite his late resolves, and although still far from being out of peril, with the chance of salvation no more than in sight, he was already at his knight-errantry again. He stood up at last, and Spigno was whispering urgently. 'Wait! We must not go together. Give me five minutes to win clear; then follow.' Bellarion considered him, and his eyes were very grave. 'But when my evasion is discovered ...' he was beginning. Spigno impatiently broke in, explaining hurriedly. 'I am the last they will suspect. The others are all here to-night. But I pleaded urgent reasons why I could not remain. I made a pretence of departing; then hid below until all were asleep. They will be at each other's throats in the morning over this.' He smiled darkly in satisfaction of his cunning. 'I'll take the light. You know your way about this house better than I do. Tread softly when you come.' He was turning to take up the lantern when Bellarion arrested him. 'You'll wait for me outside?' 'To what end? Nay, now. There is no purpose in that.' 'Let me come with you, then. If I should stumble in the dark they'll be upon me.' 'Take care that you do not.' 'At least leave me your dagger since you take the light.' 'Here, then.' Spigno unsheathed and surrendered the weapon to him. Bellarion gripped the hilt. With very sombre eyes he considered the Count. Then the latter turned aside again for the lantern. 'A moment,' said Bellarion. 'What now?' Impatiently Spigno faced once more the queer glance of those dark eyes, and in that moment Bellarion stabbed him. It was a swift, hard-driven, merciful stroke that found the unfortunate man's heart and quenched his life before he had time to realise that it was threatened. Without a sound he reeled back under the blow. Bellarion's left arm went round his shoulders to ease him to the ground. But Spigno's limbs sagged under him. He sank through Bellarion's embrace like an empty sack, and then rolled over sideways. The murderer choked back a sob. His legs were trembling like empty hose with which the wind makes sport. His face was leaden-hued and his sight was blurred by tears. He went down on his knees beside the dead count, turned him on his back, straightened out the twitching limbs, and folded the arms across the breast. Nor did he rise when this was done.