Giovanni took pains to look for the crowbar exactly where it was not, for he thought that this would divert any lingering suspicion from himself, but Beroviero was only annoyed.

“There, there!” he cried, pointing.  “It is in that corner.  Quickly!”

“It would be like the clever scoundrel to have copied what he wanted and then to have put the book back into the hiding-place,” said Giovanni, pausing.

“Do not waste words, my son!” cried Beroviero in the greatest anxiety.  “Here!  This is the stone.  Get the crowbar in at this side.  So.  Now we will both heave.  There!  Wedge the stone up with that bit of wood.  That will do.  Now let us both get our hands under it, and lift it up.”

It was done, while he was speaking.  A moment later Giovanni had scooped out the loose earth, and Beroviero was staring down into the empty hole, just as Giovanni had done on the previous night.  Giovanni was almost consoled for his own disappointment when he saw his father’s face.

“It is certainly gone,” he said.  “You did not bury it deeper, did you?  The soil is hard below.”

“No, no!  It is gone!” answered the old man in a dull voice.  “Zorzi has got it.”

“You see,” said Giovanni mercilessly, “when I saw the red and white glass which he had made himself I was so sure of the truth that I acted quickly.  I saw him arrested, and I do not think he could have had anything like a book with him, for he was in his doublet and hose.  And as he is safe in prison now, he can be made to tell where he has put the thing.  How big was it?”

“It was in an iron box.  It was heavy.”  Beroviero spoke in low tones, overcome by his loss, and by the apparent certainty that Zorzi had betrayed him.

“You see why I should naturally suspect him of having stolen the mantle,” observed Giovanni.  “A man who would betray your confidence in such a way would do anything.”

“Yes, yes,” answered the old master vaguely.  “Yes—­I must go and see him in prison.  I was kind to him, and perhaps he may confess everything to me.”

“We might ask Marietta when she first missed her mantle,” suggested Giovanni.  “She must have noticed that it was gone.”

“She will not remember,” answered Beroviero.  “Let us go to the Governor’s house at once.  There is just time before mid-day.  We can speak to Marietta at dinner.”

“But you must be tired, after your journey,” objected Giovanni, with unusual concern for his father’s comfort.

“No.  I slept well on the ship.  I have done nothing to tire me.  The gondola may be still there.  Tell Pasquale to call it over, and we will go directly.  Go on!  I will follow you.”