the poisoned cup became more interesting than the flattery of the Medici followers. Even the ladies of the house of the Medici did me the honor of their subtly barbed friendliness.
"Through this very friendliness, I conceived my plan of sweet revenge upon the monsters who had ruined my life. With so great a hatred boiling in my soul that my mind reeled, my senses throbbed, my heart rose in my throat like a spurt of flame, I cursed three things of exquisite beauty with all the fervor of my newly learned lessons in devilish lore.
"These three beautiful objects I presented to three ladies of the house of Medici--presented them with honeyed words of mock humility. A necklace of jeweled links--I pledged myself to the Devil and willed that the golden necklace would tighten on the soft throat of a lady of the Medici while she slept, and strangle her into black death. A bracelet of filigree and sapphires--to pierce by its hidden silver needle the blue vein in a white Medici wrist, so that her life's blood would spurt and she would know the terror that the house of the Medici gave to others.
"Last, and most ingenious, a pair of creamy boots, pliable, embroidered in silver and silks, encrusted with amethysts--my betrothal jewels. In my hatred I cursed the boots, willing that the wearer, as long as a shred of the boots remained, should kill as I had killed, poison as I had poisoned, leave all thoughts of home and husband and live in wantonness and evil. So I cursed the beautiful boots, forgetting, in my hate, that perhaps another than a Medici might, in the years to come, wear them and become the Devil's pawn, even as I am now.
"In my life, the Medici will have the boots, of that I feel sure; but after that--I can only hope that this bloody history of the boots may be found when I am no more, and may it be a warning.
"I have lived to see my gifts received and worn, and I have laughed in my soul to see my curses bring death and terror and evil to three Medici women. I know not what will become of the golden necklace, the bracelet, or the boots. The boots may be lost or stolen, or they may lie in a Medici palace for age on age, but the curse will cling to them till they are destroyed. So I pray that no woman, save a Medici, will ever wear them.
"As I live and breathe and do the bidding of the lords of Florence, the accursed Medici--I have told the truth. When I am dead, perhaps they will find this book, and, in hell, I shall know and be glad.
"MARIA MODENA DI CAVOURI.
"Florence, 1476."
* * * * *
"Whew!" said old Erskine.
John laughed. "I don't suppose this charming history would have beenany more thrilling if I had read it from the original book, inItalian, of course. Wonder where Uncle got it! There was no mention ofit being in the library--but there it was."
"Now, will you destroy those boots?" asked Eric, and he was notentirely in jest.
But Suzanne said, laughingly, "Not before I find out if the Medicilady had a smaller foot than I! Are they still in the museum, John?"
"Never you mind, my dear. They're not for the likes of you."
"Oh, don't be silly, John. This is 1935, not the Fifteenth Century."And they laughed at Suzanne's earnestness.
The book that held the story of the Medici boots lay on the whitecloth, looking like a book of lovely verse.
Suzanne, a small white blur against the summer dark, sat quietly whilethe men talked of Silas Dickerson, his life, his mania for collecting,his death that had so fittingly come to him in his museum. It wasnearly twelve when Suzanne left the men on the terrace and with aquiet "good-night" entered the living-room and crossed to the long,shining stairs.
The men went on with their talk. Once, John, looking toward thejutting wing that was the museum, exclaimed, "Look at that, will you?Why--I'd swear I saw a light in the museum."
"You locked it, didn't you?" asked Eric.
"Of course; the key's in my desk upstairs. H-m. I'm probably mistaken,but it did seem as though a light shone there just a moment ago."
"Reflection from the living-room window, I think. Country life ismaking you jittery, John." And Eric laughed at his brother.
The men sat on, reluctant to leave the beauty of the night, and it wasalmost two o'clock when they finally went inside.
John said, "I think I'll not disturb Suzanne." And he went to sleep ina wide four-postered bed in a room next to his wife. Eric and the oldlawyer were in rooms across the hall.
* * * * *
The still summer night closed about the house of Silas Dickerson, andwhen the moon lay dying against the bank of cloud, puffed across a skyby the little wind that came before dawn, young Doctor Eric Delameterawoke, suddenly and completely, to a feeling of clammy apprehension.He had not locked his door, and now, across the grayness of the room,he saw it slowly opening.
A hand was closed around the edge of the door--a woman's hand, smalland white and jeweled. Eric sat straight and tense on the edge of hisbed, peering across the room. A woman, young and slender, in a long,trailing gown, came toward him smiling. It was Suzanne.
With a gasp, Eric watched her approach till she stood directly beforehim.
"Suzanne! You are asleep? Suzanne, shall I call John?"
He thought that perhaps he should not waken her; there were things onemust remember about sleep-walkers, but physicians scarcely believedthem.
Eric was puzzled, too, by her costume. It was not a night-robe shewore, but an elaborate, trailing dress upon which embroideries insilver shone faintly. Her short black curls were bound about threetimes with strands of pearly beads, her slim white arms were loadedwith bracelets. The pointed toes of little shoes peeped beneath hergown, little shoes of creamy leather. An amethyst gleamed on eachshoe.
The sight of these amethystine tips affected Eric strangely, much asthough he had looked at something hideously repulsive. He stood up andput out a hand to touch Suzanne's arm.
"Suzanne," he said, gently. "Let me take you to John. Shall I?"
Suzanne looked up at him, and her brown eyes, usually so merry, weredeeply slumberous, not with sleep, but with a look of utter abandon.She shook her pearl-bound head slowly, smilingly.
"No, not John. I want you, Eric."
"Mad! Suzanne must be mad!" was Eric's quick thought, but her caresswas swifter than his thought. Both jewel-laden arms about his neck,Suzanne kissed him, her red lips pouting warmly upon his.
"Suzanne! You don't know what you're doing." He grasped both her handsin his and with a haste that would have seemed ludicrous to him had heviewed the scene in a picture-play, he hurried her out of his room andacross the hall.
Eric opened her door softly and with no gentle hand shoved Suzanneinside her room. She seemed like a little animal in his grasp. Shehissed at him; clawed and scratched at his hand. But when he had shutthe door, she did not open it again, and after a moment he went backto his own room.
* * * * *
His mouth set in a firm line, his heart beating fast, Eric locked hisdoor with a noiseless turn of the key. It was almost dawn, and thegarden lay like a rare pastel outside his window; but Eric saw none ofit. He scarcely thought, though his lips moved, as if chaotic wordswere struggling for utterance.
He looked down at his hand, where two long red scratches oozed atrickle of blood. After he had washed his hand, he lay down on his bedand covered his eyes with his arm, against the picture of Suzanne.Above all else there stood out the gleaming tips of her little shoes,as he had glimpsed them through the dim light of his room when shecame toward him.
"She wore the Medici boots! The Medici boots! Suzanne must have takenthem from the museum!" Over and over he said it--"The Medici boots!The Medici boots!"
Eric rather dreaded breakfast, but when he came down at eight, to theterrace where a rustic table was set invitingly, he found John and thelawyer awaiting him. John gree
ted his brother affectionately.
"Morning, old boy! Hope you slept well. Why so solemn? Feeling seedy?"
"No, no. I am perfectly all right," Eric replied hastily, relievedthat Suzanne was not present. He added with a scarcely noticeablehesitation, "Suzanne not coming down?"
"No," replied John, easily. "She seemed to want to sleep awhile. Senther regrets. She'll see us at lunch."
John went on. "I certainly had a nightmare last night. Thought a womanin a long, shining dress came into my room and tried to stab me. Thismorning I found that a glass on my bed-table was overturned andbroken, and, by George, I'd cut my wrist on it."
He showed a jagged cut on his wrist. "Take a look, Doctor Eric."
Eric looked at the cut, carefully. "Not bad, but you might have