"The passage leads into Milan," said Ligozzi breathlessly. "It is large enough to admit an army, and opens into the house of one who is our friend. That, my lord, is why we have been so long. The good fortune is miraculous, for we were brought out into the house of a man mad against Visconti, and thinking of nothing but revenge. He alone knows of this passage, and through it will admit your men." "Ah!" Mastino drew a deep breath and raised his eyes. "God hath heard me, Ligozzi." "It was true," cried Ligozzi. "Oh, lord, he was indeed here. Only this morning he re-entered Milan, Carrara's army behind him; returned in time to stay his sister, who loathes her enforced marriage, and--and----" he suddenly faltered in his recital as Tomaso laid his hand upon his shoulder. Mastino looked at them keenly. "And what?" he asked. "I was going to say, lord, that in his absence, Valentine Visconti, trying to escape, was recaptured by the Duke himself in this Agnolo's house." "Is it for that he hates Visconti?" asked Della Scala. "Nay, my lord, he hath other wrongs": and Ligozzi proceeded to relate the tale the little painter had poured into his ears that morning. "'Not for naught did I conceal that passage!' he cried to me. My lord, truly it was not for naught, seeing we shall thereby slay Visconti!" "This man, Agnolo, he is to be trusted?" said Mastino. "If ever man was! He would see Milan in ashes, an Visconti were among them." "And the girl?" "I did not see the girl, but methinks she has the same cause to hate Visconti." "And that no one should know of this passage, it is strange," mused Della Scala. "Thou art sure there is no trap, Ligozzi? Much disappointment makes me wary." "I will stake my life there is no trap, my lord, and that this man, Agnolo Vistarnini, is dealing with the truth." "Vistarnini," repeated Mastino. "Methinks I know the name--a painter, didst thou say?" "A painter, my lord; the house is near the western gate." "The western gate! I remember. It was the day I found von Schulembourg. Truly I think we may trust the man that I remember," and Mastino faintly smiled. "There is no guile in him--nor in his daughter; poor lady! she was happy then!" "Visconti has left a guard of soldiers to protect the house; but not so many that they will not be easily disposed of. Vistarnini speaks them fair, they have no suspicion." Mastino rose and held out his hand. "So thou hast done it, my friend, thou and thy son. I owe thee much, Ligozzi. A poor man's thanks are but an halting gift; some day, however, the Duke of Verona shall tell thee what his gratitude is worth, my friend. I thank God, Ligozzi, for one friend!" * * * * * In a thick wood near Milan, a man on a white horse was slowly picking his way through the dense undergrowth. The trees were close, and in their dark shadow the place was nigh as black as night.