It was a superb morning. The rain had been blown away. Venice had robed herself in glory, and proudly enthroned herself as the great enchantress, the magician of the seas.
I threw myself wearily on my bed for a few hours’ sleep. The clock might strike as it would. I was disgusted with its antics.
CHAPTER XV
It was long past noon when I was awakened by St. Hilary.
“Well,” I asked sleepily, “have you had any luck?”
“None whatever. The duke’s belongings were packed. His rooms were dismantled. If you remember, he has been living at Bellagio the past few days. He has a villa there.”
“So you have no trace of the missing papers?”
“No trace,” he replied gloomily. “But tell me of your own adventures with the duke.”
“It appears,” he said ruefully, when I had finished, “that the duke has had the advantage of us after all. But at least we have the clock.”
“Yes,” I echoed sarcastically, “we have the clock. But it seems to me that the childish contrivances one sees sold on the boulevards of Paris for ten sous are as ingenious. I have heard it strike four of the hours, and each hour’s results were more disappointing than the last.”