"The Lord Basil seems to have taken a fancy to exploring the cells," Tristan replied. "Those who have followed him report that he holds strange converse with the ghost of some mad monk whom he starved into eternity." "And this converse--what is its subject?" Odo queried with awakening interest. "A prophecy and a woman," Tristan replied. "Though those who heard them were so terror stricken at their infectious madness that they fled--not daring to tarry longer lest they would find themselves in the clutches of the fiend." "A prophecy and a woman," Odo repeated pensively. "The Lord Alberic has confided much in me--his fears--his doubts! For even he knows not, how his mother came to her untimely end." "The Lady Marozia?" "The tale is known to you?" "Rumors--flimsy--intangible--" "One night she was mysteriously strangled. The Lord Alberic was almost beside himself. But the mystery remained unsolved." After a pause Odo continued: "I, too, have not been idle. We must lull them in security! We must appear utterly paralyzed. Our terror will increase their boldness. Their ultimate object is still hidden. We must be wary. The Lord Alberic must be informed. We must spike the bait." "I have despatched a trusty messenger in the guise of a peasant to the shrine of the Archangel," Tristan interposed. "God grant that he arrive not too late," Odo replied. "And now, my son, listen to my words. A great soul and a stout heart must he have who sets himself to such a task as is before you! We are surrounded by the very fiends of Hell in human guise. Speak to no one of what you have seen. If you are in need of counsel, come to me!" Odo raised his hands, pronouncing a silent blessing over the kneeling visitor and Tristan departed, dazed and trembling, wide-eyed and with pallid lips. As he passed Mount Aventine the dark-robed form of a hunchback suddenly rose like a ghost from the ground beside him and, approaching Tristan, muttered some words in an unintelligible jargon. Believing he was dealing with a beggar, Tristan was about to dismiss the ill-favored gnome with a gift, which the latter refused, motioning to Tristan to incline his ear. With an ill-concealed gesture of impatience Tristan complied, but his strange interlocutor had hardly delivered himself of his message when Tristan recoiled as if he had seen a snake in the grass before him, every vestige of color fading from his face. "At the Lateran?" he chokingly replied to the whispered confidence of the hunchback. The latter nodded. "At the Lateran." Ere Tristan could recover from his surprise, his informant had disappeared among the ruins. For some time he stood as if rooted to the spot. It was too monstrous--too unbelievable and yet--what could prompt his informant to invent so terrible a tale? At midnight, two nights hence, the consecrated wafer was to be taken from the tabernacle in the Lateran!