At that instant, a man, wrapt in a dark cloak, was seen stealing across the Piazza of St Mark. His form was robust, and his step firm; it was the figure of the robber--of Rastelli. He paused a moment under the shadow of the church of St Benedick, as if to watch if any one observed him; then crossed the square--the portico concealed him;--but it was the hour--the very moment--it must be the messenger! There was a hasty tap at the door of the cabinet---- "My lord--he has come." "Admit him." "He did not stay." "Where is his message?" "My lord, it is here." The servant placed a small iron casket in the hands of his master; a folded packet accompanied it; and retired. Gonsalvo broke the seal of the packet. There was not a word--the paper was blank. But it contained a small key, apparently that of the casket, of a singular form and workmanship. The letter was a blank! The chest then, which was in his hands, contained the secret? Gonsalvo hesitated. Was it fit that the deposit should be at once opened? Was it not more fit that the disclosure (whatever it was) should be public--in the presence of the Gonfalonière, and in the apartment of the Senate? And yet it might be that the casket contained matter hostile to his desires, rather than tending to assist them. It might be that the proof even of Lorenzo's death failed wholly; and such truth, once openly declared, could never be got rid of. He poised the chest in his hands. It weighed heavily. What could be its contents? Perhaps the written confession of Arionelli, or some of his companions. At all events, the course of a private search was safe: a public one might be made formally, in the morning, if convenient. He took the key, secured the door, approached the taper, and cautiously examined the lock of the casket. The key entered freely. It turned in the lock. The bolt shot. The hand that lay upon the lid tightened its grasp to lift it open. At that moment the magazine within exploded. The chest, with a report that shook the apartment, burst into a thousand atoms. The household of Di Vasari was alarmed. His domestics rushed in a body to their master's chamber. They tried to enter, but the door was fast. They knocked, but no answer was returned. While they stood irresolute in horror and alarm, an officer of justice, attended, came thundering at the gate. The prison of the Seralio had been alarmed in the night. The robber Arionelli and his wife were dead by poison, and the Gonfalonière in council desired the presence and assistance of Signor di Vasari. The affrighted domestics burst the door open. The message from the State was answered by the spectacle within. On the floor lay Gonsalvo di Vasari--dead; his garments scorched; his face and hands discoloured; his body mangled with a shower of balls; and the shell of the fatal casket at his feet. CHAPTER IV.