They all heard him dragging the furniture away again, the box-bed and the table and the old chair.

Zorzi came up as Pasquale was clearing the stuff away.

“They want you,” said the old sailor, seeing him and hearing him at the same time.  “What have you been doing now?  Where is the young lady?”

“In the main furnace room,” whispered Zorzi.  “Do not let them go there whatever they do.”

Pasquale gave vent to his feelings in a low voice, as he dragged the last things back and began to unbar the door.  Zorzi leaned against the wall, for his lameness prevented him from helping.  At last the door was opened, and he saw the figures of the men outside against the light.  He went forward as quickly as he could, pushing past Pasquale to get out.  He stood on the threshold, leaning on his crutch.

“I am Zorzi,” he said quietly.

“Zorzi the Dalmatian, called the Ballarin?” asked the lieutenant.

“Yes, yes!” cried Giovanni, anxious to hasten matters, “They call him the dancer because he is lame.  This is that foreign liar, that thief, that assassin!  Take him quickly!”

The archers, who in the changes of time had become halberdiers, had dropped the bundle of spears they had made for a battering-ram.  Two of them took Zorzi by the arms roughly, and prepared to drag him along with them.  He made no resistance, but objected quietly.

“I can walk better, if you do not hold me,” he said.  “I cannot run away, as you see.”

“Let him walk between you,” ordered the officer.  “Good night, sir,” he said to Giovanni.

Two of the men lifted the bundle of halberds and began to carry it between them, trying to undo the straps as they walked, for they could not stay behind.  Giovanni saluted the officer and stood aside for the party to pass.  The two men who had looked on had separated, and one had already gone forward and disappeared beyond the bridge.  The other lingered, apparently still interested in the proceedings.  Pasquale, dumb with rage at last, stood in the doorway.

“Let me pass,” said Giovanni, as soon as the archers had gone on a few steps, surrounding Zorzi.

With a growl, Pasquale came out and stood on the pavement a moment, and Giovanni went in.  Instantly, the man who had lingered made a step towards the porter, whispered something in his ear, and then made off as fast as he could in the direction taken by the archers.  Pasquale looked after him in surprise, only half understanding the meaning of what he had said.  Then he went in, but left the door ajar.  The people who had been looking out of the windows of Beroviero’s house had disappeared, when they had seen that Giovanni was on the footway.  All was silent now; only, far off, the tramp of the archers could still be heard.