Henry returned to his room.

His first impulse was to throw aside the manuscript, and never to lookat it again. The one chance of relieving his mind from the dreadfuluncertainty that oppressed it, by obtaining positive evidenceof the truth, was a chance annihilated by the Countess's death.What good purpose could be served, what relief could he anticipate,if he read more?

He walked up and down the room. After an interval, his thoughtstook a new direction; the question of the manuscript presenteditself under another point of view. Thus far, his readinghad only informed him that the conspiracy had been planned.How did he know that the plan had been put in execution?

The manuscript lay just before him on the floor. He hesitated;then picked it up; and, returning to the table, read on as follows,from the point at which he had left off.

'While the Countess is still absorbed in the bold yet simple combinationof circumstances which she has discovered, the Baron returns.He takes a serious view of the case of the Courier; it may be necessary,he thinks, to send for medical advice. No servant is left in the palace,now the English maid has taken her departure. The Baron himselfmust fetch the doctor, if the doctor is really needed.

' "Let us have medical help, by all means," his sister replies."But wait and hear something that I have to say to you first."She then electrifies the Baron by communicating her ideato him. What danger of discovery have they to dread?My Lord's life in Venice has been a life of absolute seclusion:nobody but his banker knows him, even by personal appearance.He has presented his letter of credit as a perfect stranger;and he and his banker have never seen each other since thatfirst visit. He has given no parties, and gone to no parties.On the few occasions when he has hired a gondola or taken a walk,he has always been alone. Thanks to the atrocious suspicionwhich makes him ashamed of being seen with his wife, he hasled the very life which makes the proposed enterprise easyof accomplishment.

'The cautious Baron listens--but gives no positive opinion, as yet."See what you can do with the Courier," he says; "and I will decidewhen I hear the result. One valuable hint I may give you before you go.Your man is easily tempted by money--if you only offer him enough.The other day, I asked him, in jest, what he would do for athousand pounds. He answered, 'Anything.' Bear that in mind; and offeryour highest bid without bargaining."

'The scene changes to the Courier's room, and shows the poor wretchwith a photographic portrait of his wife in his hand, crying.The Countess enters.

'She wisely begins by sympathising with her contemplated accomplice.He is duly grateful; he confides his sorrows to his gracious mistress.Now that he believes himself to be on his death-bed, he feels remorsefor his neglectful treatment of his wife. He could resign himself to die;but despair overpowers him when he remembers that he has saved no money,and that he will leave his widow, without resources, to the mercy ofthe world.

'On this hint, the Countess speaks. "Suppose you were asked to doa perfectly easy thing," she says; "and suppose you were rewarded fordoing it by a present of a thousand pounds, as a legacy for your widow?"

'The Courier raises himself on his pillow, and looks at the Countesswith an expression of incredulous surprise. She can hardly becruel enough (he thinks) to joke with a man in his miserable plight.Will she say plainly what this perfectly easy thing is, the doingof which will meet with such a magnificent reward?

'The Countess answers that question by confiding her projectto the Courier, without the slightest reserve.

'Some minutes of silence follow when she has done. The Courieris not weak enough yet to speak without stopping to think first.Still keeping his eyes on the Countess, he makes a quaintlyinsolent remark on what he has just heard. "I have not hithertobeen a religious man; but I feel myself on the way to it.Since your ladyship has spoken to me, I believe in the Devil."It is the Countess's interest to see the humorous side of thisconfession of faith. She takes no offence. She only says,"I will give you half an hour by yourself, to think over my proposal.You are in danger of death. Decide, in your wife's interests, whether youwill die worth nothing, or die worth a thousand pounds."

'Left alone, the Courier seriously considers his position--and decides. He rises with difficulty; writes a few lines on a leaftaken from his pocket-book; and, with slow and faltering steps,leaves the room.

'The Countess, returning at the expiration of the half-hour's interval,finds the room empty. While she is wondering, the Courier opensthe door. What has he been doing out of his bed? He answers,"I have been protecting my own life, my lady, on the bare chancethat I may recover from the bronchitis for the third time.If you or the Baron attempts to hurry me out of this world,or to deprive me of my thousand pounds reward, I shall tell the doctorwhere he will find a few lines of writing, which describe yourladyship's plot. I may not have strength enough, in the case supposed,to betray you by making a complete confession with my own lips;but I can employ my last breath to speak the half-dozen wordswhich will tell the doctor where he is to look. Those words,it is needless to add, will be addressed to your Ladyship, if I findyour engagements towards me faithfully kept."

'With this audacious preface, he proceeds to state the conditions onwhich he will play his part in the conspiracy, and die (if he does die)worth a thousand pounds.

'Either the Countess or the Baron are to taste the food and drinkbrought to his bedside, in his presence, and even the medicines whichthe doctor may prescribe for him. As for the promised sum of money,it is to be produced in one bank-note, folded in a sheet of paper,on which a line is to be written, dictated by the Courier.The two enclosures are then to be sealed up in an envelope,addressed to his wife, and stamped ready for the post. This done,the letter is to be placed under his pillow; the Baron or the Countessbeing at liberty to satisfy themselves, day by day, at their own time,that the letter remains in its place, with the seal unbroken,as long as the doctor has any hope of his patient's recovery.The last stipulation follows. The Courier has a conscience; and witha view to keeping it easy, insists that he shall be left in ignoranceof that part of the plot which relates to the sequestration of my Lord.Not that he cares particularly what becomes of his miserly master--but he does dislike taking other people's responsibilities on hisown shoulders.

'These conditions being agreed to, the Countess calls in the Baron,who has been waiting events in the next room.

'He is informed that the Courier has yielded to temptation;but he is still too cautious to make any compromising remarks.Keeping his back turned on the bed, he shows a bottle to the Countess.It is labelled "Chloroform." She understands that my Lord is to beremoved from his room in a convenient state of insensibility.In what part of the palace is he to be hidden? As they openthe door to go out, the Countess whispers that questionto the Baron. The Baron whispers back, "In the vaults!"The curtain falls.'