The Making of a Saint

by W. Somerset Maugham

There was blood on his hands. Going up to Checco, he handed him the jewelled dagger.

'Take this. It will be more use to you than where you left it.'

Checco turned away in disgust.

'Here, take mine,' said Matteo. 'I will take yours. It will bring me good luck.'

The words were hardly out of his mouth when a step was heard outside. Scipione looked out cautiously.

'Andrea Framonti,' he whispered.

'Good luck, indeed!' said Matteo.

It was the captain of the guard. He was in the habit of coming every day about this hour to receive the password from the Count. We had forgotten him. He entered.

'Good-day to you, gentlemen! Are you waiting to see the Count?'

He caught sight of the corpse lying against the wall.