The room was dusty, dark and untidy. Near the bed was a bottle of Chianti and some bread, but the flask was full and the loaf untouched. Petronella was past earthly food. Herrick saw the mark of death on her yellow face. She seemed pleased to see him and not at all afraid. Receiving him with a chuckle, she interpreted the look in his eyes. "So he has told you, that young Signor," she said in her own tongue, "ah! I thought he would. It was time--but too late Signor Dottore--too late for the prison. I go into Purgatory. Ten pounds for masses Signor. You will see that they are said. Then I may get into Paradise to rest. I need rest. All my life I have worked hard. The Good God will not be hard on poor old Petronella." Dr. Jim took a chair by the bedside, and felt her pulse. "You need nourishing food Petronella," he said soothingly, "a cup of soup now--" "Eh! Eh Signor Dottore that 'will not help me. I am dying. You do not know. I have never told you. Cancer Signor--a bad cancer. I shall die." "I may be able to--" "No, I do not want that. They would put me in prison. Let me die. The young Signor said I would die. It is foolish to live. I will go to my Padrona and explain." "Then you did shoot the Colonel, Petronella?" "Si! Si!" the old woman coughed, "he was a devil-man. He was cruel to my padrona, to the young Signor. Also he had the evil eye. Hard to kill. Oh, yes," she chuckled, "but the silver bullet--ah yes the silver bullet." Dr. Jim looked at her in silence. He wondered that he had not suspected Petronella before. After Bess had told him about the bullet, he had been certain that the person who had fired the shot, was of a superstitious nature. Mrs. Marsh being Italian might have thought of the same thing. But she was educated, and above such folly. Petronella, a woman of the people with feudal instincts, had clung to that wild belief of the Middle Ages. She was the one person of Dr. Jim's acquaintances, who would have dreamed of such a thing, and her, he had not suspected. "Why did you use a silver bullet Petronella?" "Eh! the man was a diavolo--a witch creature--he had the evil eye. Did I not meet with an accident after he had over-looked me. It was better he should die, rather than live to ruin the Signora. A silver bullet. Only in that way Signor can those aided by the devil perish. I am not sorry. No. It was a good deed. The young Signor said so." "All the same Petronella I must tell you that Frisco is accused of this murder. He is in prison. It is unfair that he should suffer for what you have done, so you must make confession." "I have done so Signor Dottore. I wrote with my own hand in my own language, that I Petronella had slain this devil-man with a silver bullet." "Even so," said Herrick, "but I want to write down your confession myself. You can sign it and the police officer can witness it. Thus, will the man who is in prison for your crime be saved."