The company had no sooner heard this entry read than they all began to murmur against Signor Plati, thus giving me a decided advantage over him. Fortunately also for me, the banker did not pass in the town for an over-scrupulous man; so that every one readily believed the possibility of his having played me the roguish trick of which I accused him. The Bargello made him read these words, and asked him if he had not written them. The citizen, confounded by so extraordinary a circumstance, answered in an agitation which almost deprived him of the power of speech, “that he had written the first words, but not the remainder.” “How so,” replied the officer of justice, “it appears to be all in the same hand-writing.” “I cannot deny that,” rejoined the banker, “but, nevertheless it is not all my writing.” “It will avail you nothing to deny it in this manner,” said the Bargello; “you must prove its falsity.” A fresh scene now contributed to convince the standers-by that I had not complained without cause. A voice of thunder resounded through the house, and a man with his kitchen apron and a large carving knife at his side made his appearance. This was mine host, whom Sayavedra had been in search of, and who, hearing that the banker denied having received the money, was furiously exasperated against him. “Why,” cried he as he entered, “do they not hang this arch Jew? Why not fire his house, and burn him with all his race?” Then perceiving the officer of justice, “can you allow,” said he, in a respectful and more moderate tone, “that a cavalier should be robbed, ruined, and struck, with impunity, for having trusted his property to a thief. This good gentleman lodges at my house, and I most solemnly assure you, that I have seen and handled the casket, as well as the bag which he has unfortunately confided to this banker, who is already but too well known at Milan for what he really is.”