“I was quick, you may be sure, and yet not so quick but that I found time to look at my strange visitor.  He was a dark, elderly man, dressed in a suit of plain black, and might have been a clerk, or a tradesman, or a confidential servant.  As soon as I was ready, he took the lead; conducted me to a carriage which was waiting at the corner of a neighboring street; took his place respectfully on the opposite seat; pulled down both the blinds, and gave the word to drive on.  I never knew by what streets we went, or to what part of Rome he took me; but the way seemed long and intricate.  At length, we stopped and alighted.  The night was pitch-dark, and still stormy.  I saw before me only the outline of a large building, indistinct and gloomy, and a small open door dimly lighted-from within.  Hurried across the strip of narrow pavement, and shut in immediately, I had no time to identify localities—­no choice, except to follow my conductor and blindly pursue the adventure to its close.  Having entered by a back door, we went up and down a labyrinth of staircases and passages, for the mere purpose, as it seemed, of bewildering me as much as possible—­then paused before an oaken door at the end of the corridor.  Here my conductor signified by a gesture that I was to precede him.

“It was a large, panelled chamber, richly furnished.  A wood fire smouldered on the hearth—­a curtained alcove to the left partly concealed a bed—­a corresponding alcove to the right, fitted with altar and crucifix, served as an oratory.  In the centre of the room stood a table covered with a cloth.  It needed no second glance to tell me what object lay beneath that cloth, uplifting it in ghastly outline!  My conductor pointed to the table, and asked if there was anything I needed.  To this I replied that I must have more light and more fire, and so proceeded to disembarrass myself of my cloak, and prepare my palette.  In the meantime, he threw on a log and some pine-cones, and went to fetch an additional lamp.

“Left alone with the body and impelled by an irresistible impulse, I rolled back the cloth and saw before me the corpse of a young man in fancy dress—­a magnificent fellow cast in the very mould of strength and grace, and measuring his six feet, if an inch.  The features were singularly handsome; the brow open and resolute; the hair dark, and crisp with curls.  Looking more closely, I saw that a lock had been lately cut from the right temple, and found one of the severed hairs upon the cheek, where it had fallen.  The dress was that of a jester of the middle ages, half scarlet and half white, with a rich belt round the waist.  In this belt, as if in horrible mockery of the dead, was stuck a tiny baton surmounted by a fool’s cap, and hung with silver bells.  Looking down thus upon the body—­so young, so beautiful, so evidently unprepared for death—­a conviction of foul play flashed upon me with all the suddenness and certainty of revelation.  Here were no appearances of disease and no signs of strife.  The expression was not that of a man who had fallen weapon in hand.  Neither, however, was it that of one who had died in the agony of poison.  The longer I looked, the more mysterious it seemed; yet the more I felt assured that there was guilt at the bottom of the mystery.