It was clear that something must be done to hinder Zorzi from carrying out his scheme.  After all, Zorzi’s own jesting proposal, that a ruffian should be employed to cut his throat, was not to be rejected.  It was a simple plan, direct and conclusive.  It might not be possible to find the manuscript after all, but the only man who knew its contents would be removed, and Beroviero’s sons would inherit what should come to them by right.  Against this project there was the danger that the murderer might some day betray the truth, under torture, or might come back again and again, and demand more money; but the killing of a man who was not even a Venetian, who was an interloper, who could be proved to have abused his master’s confidence, when he should be no longer alive to defend himself, did not strike Giovanni as a very serious matter, and as for any one ever forcing him to pay money which he did not wish to pay, he knew that to be a feat beyond the ability of an ordinary person.

One other course suggested itself at once.  He could forestall Zorzi by writing to his father and telling him what he sincerely believed to be the truth.  He knew the old man well, and was sure that if once persuaded that Zorzi had betrayed him by using the manuscript, he would be merciless.  The difficulty would lie in making Beroviero believe anything against his favourite.  Yet in Giovanni’s estimation the proofs were overwhelming.  Besides, he had another weapon with which to rouse his father’s anger against the Dalmatian.  Since Marietta had defied him and had gone to see Zorzi in the laboratory, he had not found what he considered a convenient opportunity of speaking to her on the subject; that is to say, he had lacked the moral courage to do so at all.  But it would need no courage to complain of her conduct to their father, and though Beroviero’s anger might fall chiefly upon Marietta, a portion of it would take effect against Zorzi.  It would be one more force acting in the direction of his ruin.

Giovanni went away to his own glass-house, meditating all manner of evil to his enemy, and as he reckoned up the chances of success, he began to wonder how he could have been so weak as to offer Zorzi an enormous bribe, instead of proceeding at once to his destruction.

Unconscious of his growing danger, Zorzi fed the fire of the furnace, and then sat down at the table before the window, laid his crutches beside him, and began to write out the details of his own experiments, as the master had done for years.  He wrote the rather elaborate characters of the fifteenth century in a small but clear hand, very unlike old Beroviero’s.  The window was open, and the light breeze blew in, fanning his heated forehead; for the weather was growing hotter and hotter, and the order had been given to let the main furnaces cool after the following Saturday, as the workmen could not bear the heat many days longer.  After that, they would set to work in a shed at the back of the glass-house to knead the clay for making new crucibles, and the night boys would enjoy their annual holiday, which consisted in helping the workmen by treading the stiff clay in water for several hours every day.