“A friend?” retorted the gondolier, suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for your return.”
“Who are you?”
“You know me well.”
“I know you not.”
A laugh sounded low and soft in the darkness.
“Your ears must be losing their cunning, Reggio. Why, I should recognize your voice anywhere in all the world that I heard it. Come nearer.”
But the gondolier had been warned of death that hovered over him, and he did not move.
“If you are my friend,” he said, “why do you lurk like an assassin at my door?”
Again that musical laugh echoed between those dark walls.