"Are you aware when he will return?" I asked.
"He will never do so," Martinos replied. "I heard the old man below wailing this morning, because he had lost the best master he had ever had."
"And you?"
"I am ruined, as you know," he said, without any reference to his illness, "but the good doctor has been good enough to place twenty thousand lira to my credit, and I shall go elsewhere and attempt to double it."
He must have been much better, for he smiled in the old deceitful way as he said this. Remembering what I knew of him, I turned from the man in disgust, and bidding him good-day, left the room which I hoped never to see again as long as I might live. In the courtyard I encountered the old caretaker once more.
"So the Senor Nikola has gone away never to return?" I said.
"That is so, Senor," said the old man with a heavy sigh. "He has left me a rich man, but I do not like to think that I shall never see him again."
Sitting down upon the edge of the well I took from my pocket the letter the Don had handed me.
"Farewell, friend Hatteras," it began. "By the time you receive this I shall have left Venice, never more to set foot in it. We shall not meet again. I go to the Fate which claims me, and of which I told you. Think of me sometimes, and, if it be possible, with kindness,
"Nikola."
I rose and moved towards the door, placing a gold piece in the old man's hand as I passed him. Then, with a last look at the courtyard, I went down the steps and took my place in the gondola, with a feeling of sadness in my heart for the sad Destiny of the most wonderful man I had ever known.