“I know nothing,” I answered boldly, unhesitatingly, and even with a ring of truth and sincerity that was calculated to convince, “nor can I even believe this rumour. It is a wild story. That the body has been stolen may be true enough. Such things occur; though he was a bold man who laid hands upon the body of a person of such importance. But that she lives—Gesu! that is an old wife’s tale. I had, myself, the word of the Lord Filippo’s physician that she was dead.” “Nevertheless, this old wife’s tale, as you dub it, is one of which I have had confirmation. Lend me your wits, Boccadoro, and you shall not regret it. Exercise them now, and conjecture me who could have abstracted the body from the church. In seeking this information I am acting in the interests of the noble House of Borgia which I serve and to which she was to have been allied, as you well know.” I could have laughed to see how the apparent sincerity of my denial had convinced him to such an extent that he even sought my help to discover the true thief, and to account for his interest in the matter he lied to me of his service to the House of Borgia. “I will gladly lend you these wits,” said I, “to disprove to you the rumour of which you say that you have confirmation. Let us accept the statement that the body has been stolen. That much, no doubt, is true, for even rumours require some slight foundation. But who in all this world could say that when the body was taken it was not dead? Clearly but one man—he that administered the poison. And, I ask your Excellency, would he be likely to tell the world what he had done?” He might have answered me: “I am that man.” But he did not. Instead, he hung his head, as if pondering the words of wisdom I had uttered—words meant to convince him of my own innocence in the matter; and this they achieved, at least in part. He flashed me a look of sudden suspicion, it is true; but it faded almost as soon as it shone from his brooding eye. “Maybe I am a fool that I do not string you up and test the truth of what you say,” he grumbled. “But I incline to believe you, and you are a merry rogue. You shall remain and have peace and comfort so long as you amuse me. But tremble if I discover that you have sought to deceive me. You shall have the cord first and other things after, and your death shall be the thing you’ll pray for long before it takes you from my vengeance. If you know aught, speak now and you shall find me merciful. Your life and liberty shall be the recompense of your honesty towards me.” “I repeat, Excellency,” I answered, without changing colour, “that all that I know have I already told you.” He was convinced, I think, for the time being. “Get you gone, then,” he bade me. “I have other business to deal with ere I sleep. Mariani, see that Boccadoro is well lodged.”