"'True, señor,' said Bandolo, with a profound bow; 'but I am too honourable a bravo to break my promise. Excuse me, illustrissimo, but you must—die!' and with these words he buried his poniard in the other's breast.
"The cavalier lived only to relate this story, and in less than ten minutes expired; but by that time Bandolo was beyond the walls of Naples."
"He was hanged afterwards, of course?"
"Hanged? Oh! not at all. He is now said to be with the Imperialists, attached to the suite of a Spanish general of Ferdinand, and no doubt his sister has gone to join him; for it would be a thousand pities that a pair so worthy should be separated."
Much, or nearly all, that the baron said, was totally incomprehensible to Ian; but I translated the anecdote as we walked back to the Platz, and I also imparted to him, in secresy, my night adventure with Prudentia, showed him the chain of the Scoto-Imperialist, and hinted my suspicions that she, and perhaps the Hausmeister, were the spies referred to by the governor in his orders to the guards.
"You know," I concluded, "that we have more than once heard this seeming German swear in very good Spanish."
"Stay—a thought strikes me. Dioul! if it should be the case?"
"What?" A fierce gleam shot over Ian's dark eyes.
"That this Otto may be the brother of Prudentia—the bravo to whom the baron referred."
My heart leaped at the idea of having an enemy so subtle, so ferocious, so blood-stained, and terrible.