There was a soft pattering of steps and now the black form passed out of the circle of light and emerged into the red light of the lamp, which burned before the altar. Above, upon the embroidered frontal, were the curtains of white silk edged with gold--the gates of the tabernacle. A long, lean arm, hardly more than a bone, drew apart the curtains. Mingling with the heavy breathing of the sleeping man there was a sharp sound, most startling in the intense silence. It was a bestial snarl of satisfaction. It was followed by abominable chirpings of triumph, cold, inhuman, but real. Tristan slept on. The men-at-arms kept their faithful watch. In the whole of the Lateran Palace no one knew that the High Priest of Satan was prowling through the precincts and had seized upon his awful prey. He thrust the Holy Host into a silver box, and placed it next to his bosom. Then he drew a wafer of the exact size and shape of the stolen Host from the pocket of his robe. Gliding over to Tristan he thrust this unconsecrated wafer into his doublet. Then the black bat-like thing mounted to the ceiling. The lemon-colored light reappeared for a moment. In its glare the dark phantom looked terrific, like a fiend from Hell. The rope ladder moved silently upwards, and the painted panel with the arrow-pierced Sebastian dropped soundlessly into its place. The red lamp burnt in front of the tabernacle. But the chapel was empty now. At dawn the unexpected happened. The guards, expecting to be relieved, found themselves face to face with a special commission, come to visit the Lateran. It consisted of the Cardinal-Archbishop of Ravenna, the Cardinal of Orvieto, the Prefect of the Camera and Basil the Grand Chamberlain. After having made the rounds they at last arrived before the chapel of St. Luke. They found the two men-at-arms stationed at the door, alert at their post. The men were exhausted; their faces appeared grey and drawn in the morning light, but they reported that no one had passed into the chapel, nor had they seen anything of Tristan since midnight, when he had questioned them. The doors of the chapel were locked. Tristan held the keys. Repeated knocks elicited no response. The Archbishop of Ravenna looked anxiously at the Prefect of the Camera. "I do not like this, Messer Salviati," he said in a low voice. "I fear there is something wrong here." "Beat upon the door more loudly," the Prefect turned to one of the halberdiers, and the man struck the solid oak with the staff of his axe, till the whole corridor, filled with the ghostly advance light of dawn, rang and echoed with the noise. The Prefect of the Camera turned to the Archbishop. "It would seem the Capitano has fallen asleep. That is not a thing he ought to have done--but as the chapel seems inviolate we need hardly remain longer." And he looked inquiringly at the Grand Chamberlain. The latter shook his head dubiously.