discovered my plan, for, of course, the lackey died. I have sent him an opal with the curse of hell upon it, but he ground it and returned it to me. But need I go on? I have come to you as a last resort. He must die!"
"I see but one way, Excellency. Would you"—he stopped as if to reconsider, but resumed almost at once at the gesture of impatience manifested by his visitor—"would you enlist the powers of darkness?"
The duke nodded silently and shrugged his shoulders eloquently.
"You are aware, Messer Duca, that man must pay for consort with Satan?"
"I am aware. I care not for the consequences."
"It is a rash act, Magnificent."
"It remains that my enemy must die," returned the duke coldly.
Messer Gamani shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"Since you are determined, Excellency."
"I am."
"Perchance you have a portrait of your enemy?"
The duke cast something upon the table and the magician's hand closed over it, and he peered at it intently.
"It bears a strong resemblance to the Borgia."
"Cesare? It is not he; it is not a Borgia, much as it may seem."
Messer Gamani remained silent He moved to the fireplace and added fuel to the flames.
"Care you to watch my preparation, Excellency? I shall have completed the first part of the task in the space of a glass of sand. If you care not you may retire to my library and amuse yourself among my books."
"That I shall do, Messer Gamani."
A panel in the stone wall near the fireplace swung away and the duke passed into the wizard's library.
The sands in the hour-glass drib-bled slowly to a heap, and as the last grains slipped through, Messer Gamani opened the panel in the wall and allowed the duke to enter.
The magician held a wax image in his hand, and he showed it to the duke, who exclaimed sharply: "It resembles him, my enemy, Messer Gamani!"
"It was modeled from the miniature portrait."
"What do you propose to do with it?"
"The image must be. burned. It will take another glass of sand, but it can not be hastened."
"But when does my enemy succumb?"
"As the flame from the wax dies, so your enemy dies."
An expression of skepticism crossed the face of the duke.
"I very much doubt."
"Satan does not fail his followers, Magnificent."
"It remains to be seen."
He seated himself and watched the wizard ignite the taper of the wax figure. The incantations of the magician over it drew his attention for a space, and he watched the wax figure dwindle slowly before his eyes. The head was gone, the main body, and the flame sputtered over the legs of the fantastic little mold. As the flame expired over the wax remnants Messer Gamani turned to the duke.
"He is dead, Excellency. At the hour, seven glasses of sand since the setting of the sun."
The duke threw a purse of ducats upon the table, but Messer Gamani made no move to take it.
"Beware, Messer Gamani, if your efforts fail, if you have sported." He indicated the purse. "Take this gold."
"The gold is my pay. But there is more."
"More gold?"
