I stood drumming with my fingers on the window-sill, staring stupidly out into the Vatican gardens. I could not controvert the practical arguments of Forli. Bari’s position with the Pope was nigh impregnable. I could not give warning of the plot concocted by an intimate friend and the father of my lady-love,--and of these facts the others were quite aware. I had always expected some day to be dragged into a plot like this--and had dreaded it. But what must be must. After all, the murder was not of _my_ contriving. Meantime Forli conferred eagerly with Rocca. “Well--how manage it?” “I always liked Pope Alexander Borgia’s way--an invitation to dinner--a box of sweetmeats put within tempting reach--” “Ugh!” interrupted Forli, “I was almost nipped thus at Siena four years ago,--took medicine just in time. But it will not do now. Bari distrusts us. He’ll accept none of our invitations.” “A fee to his cook?” “Very uncertain. Sometimes such servants are devilishly faithful.” “Then we seem driven to look for bravoes.” “Very right. Bari is reckless where he goes. I know where his lady friends live and when he visits them. It can be managed. I used to know the proper man, but he got himself hanged and quartered up at Ferrara last autumn.” Rocca scratched his chin meditatively. “I believe Ettore Orosi is in Rome. His price, however, would be very high.” “He who put the Duke of Gandia in the river, and later cut down the Cardinal of Pavia, whilst he was on his way to visit the Pope?” “The same man. I think I can reach him. My valet saw him yesterday--just returned from Naples.” “We must pay his fee. A very proper man,” Forli was reflecting aloud, when I turned upon them angrily. “Reverend sirs, I repeat to you, despite my southern breeding I am northern enough not to enjoy this calm discussion of a bandit’s business. You understand that, if you continue in the act you propose so deliberately, I will have no part therein. I cry pardon for my discourteous tone, but I trust you both understand me.” “You will not refuse the Archbishopric, however,” sneered Rocca wolfishly. “Pious sirs,” I retorted, “an old proverb, current in many tongues, warns against dividing the bear’s skin ere slaying the bear.” Forli brought his hands together with a smart slap. “My dear Gualtiero,” spoke he, smiling, “I once counted myself the happy intimate of the illustrious Prince Caesare Borgia. I may humbly claim some modest experience in these and other like delicate matters. When I have fairly made my pact with Orosi, Bari will not be in danger. Bari will be--in heaven. The chance of a slip is not worth an argument.” I felt the disadvantage of my position and reached rather stiffly for my biretta.