Scarcely ten minutes had elapsed since the unfortunate Agnes was thus suddenly cut off in the bloom of youth and beauty, when a lieutenant of police, with his guard of sbirri, passed along the road skirting Wagner’s garden.
They were evidently in search of some malefactor, for, stopping in their course, they began to deliberate on the business which they had in hand.
“Which way could he possibly have gone?” cried one, striking the butt-end of his pike heavily upon the ground.
“How could we possibly have missed him?” exclaimed another.
“Stephano is not so easily caught, my men,” observed the lieutenant. “He is the most astute and cunning of the band of which he is the captain. And yet, I wish we had pounced upon him, since we were so nicely upon his track.”
“And a thousand ducats offered by the state for his capture,” suggested one of the sbirri.
“Yes; ’tis annoying!” ejaculated the lieutenant, “but I could have sworn he passed this way.”
“And I could bear the same evidence, signor,” observed the first speaker. “Maybe he has taken refuge in those bushes.”
“Not unlikely. We are fools to grant him a moment’s vantage ground. Over the fence, my men, and beat amongst these gardens.”
Thus speaking, the lieutenant set the example, by leaping the railing, and entering the grounds belonging to Wagner’s abode.