I took the paper, and looked round for a light by which to read it. By the light of a lamp which was burning before a Madonna I saw it was a pencilled note, and written apparently in a trembling hand. I had much difficulty in making out the following words:—
"Do not come to-night, or we are lost! All is known except your name. Nothing can sever us.—Your LUCREZIA."
"Lucrezia!" I cried, "Lucrezia again! What devilish mystification underlies all this? 'Do not come.' But, my good lady, what road must I take to find you out?"
While I was cogitating over the contents of this note I mechanically took the road to the Yiccolo di Madama Lucrezia, and soon found myself in front of No. 13.
The street was deserted as usual, and only the sound of my footsteps disturbed the profound silence which reigned all round. I stopped and looked up at the well-known window. This time I was not mistaken: the shutter was pushed back and the window was wide open.
I thought I saw a human shape standing out from the dark background of the room.
"Lucrezia, is it you?" I said in a low voice.
No one answered, but I heard a clicking-noise, the cause of which I could not at first understand.
"Lucrezia, are you there?" I repeated rather louder.
At the same instant I received a sharp blow in the chest, followed by the sound of a report, and down I went on the pavement.