“I know not, four men whose faces were masked. They said also that though you must die, they were commanded to do me and this woman no harm, only to bind and silence us. This they did, then, having taken what money they could find, went out to waylay you. Afterwards I heard a scuffle in the arch and well-nigh died of sorrow, for I who could neither warn nor help you, was sure that you were perishing beneath their knives.” “For this deliverance, thank God,” said Cyril, lifting up his hands. “Presently, presently,” answered Marcus. “First follow me,” and taking the lamp in his hand, he ran back to the archway. Beneath it a man lay upon his face—he across whom Marcus had stumbled, and about him blood flowed from many wounds. In silence they turned him over so that the light fell upon his features. Then Marcus staggered back amazed, for, behold! they were Caleb’s, notwithstanding the blood and wounds that marred them, still dark and handsome in his death sleep. “Why,” he said to Stephanus, “this is that very man whose bloody work, as they told us, the murderers came to do. It would seem that he has fallen into his own snare.” “Are you certain, son?” asked Cyril. “Does not this gashed and gory cheek deceive you?” “Draw that hand of his from beneath the cloak,” answered Marcus. “If I am right the first finger will lack a joint.” Cyril obeyed and held up the stiffening hand. It was as Marcus had said. “Caught in his own snare!” repeated Marcus. “Well, though I knew he hated me, and more than once we have striven to slay each other in battle and private fight, never would I have believed that Caleb the Jew would sink to murder. He is well repaid, the treacherous dog!” “Judge not, that ye be not judged,” answered Cyril. “What do you know of how or why this man came by his death? He may have been hurrying here to warn you.” “Against his own paid assassins! No, father, I know Caleb better, only he was viler than I thought.” Then they carried the body into the house and took counsel what they should do. While they reasoned together, for every path seemed full of danger, there came a knock upon the archway door. They hesitated, not knowing whether it would be safe to open, till the knock was repeated more loudly. “I will go, lord,” said Stephanus, “for why need I fear, who am of no account to any one?” So he went, presently to return. “What was it?” asked Marcus. “Only a young man, who said that he had been strictly charged by his master, Demetrius the Alexandrian merchant, to deliver a letter at this hour. Here is the letter.” “Demetrius, the Alexandrian merchant,” said Marcus as he took it. “Why, under that name Caleb who lies there dead passed in Rome.” “Read the letter,” said Cyril. So Marcus cut the silk, broke the seal, and read: “To the noble Marcus,