Kneeling on Contarini’s shoulders he took out a small iron instrument, shaped exactly like a pear, but which by a screw, placed where the stem would be, could be made to open out in four parts that spread like the petals of a flower.  Arisa looked on with savage interest, for she believed that it was some horrible instrument of torture; and indeed it was the iron gag, the ‘pear of anguish,’ which the torturers used in those days, to silence those whom they called their patients.

Holding the instrument closed, Aristarchi pushed his hand under the cushion.  He knew that Contarini’s mouth would be open, as he must be half suffocated and gasping for breath.  In an instant the iron pear had slipped between his teeth and had opened its relentless leaves, obedient to the screw.

“Take the pillow away,” said Aristarchi quietly.  “We can say good-bye to your old acquaintance now, but he will have to content himself with nodding his head in a friendly way.”

He turned the helpless man upon his side, for owing to the position of his heels and hands Contarini could not lie on his back.  Then Aristarchi set the candle on the floor near his face and looked at him and indulged himself in a low laugh.  Contarini’s face was deep red with rage and suffocation, and his beautiful brown eyes were starting from their sockets with a terror which increased when he saw far the first time the man with whom he had to deal, or rather who was about to deal with him, and most probably without mercy.  Then he caught sight of Arisa, smiling at him, but not as she had been wont to smile.  Aristarchi spoke at last, in an easy, reassuring tone.

“My friend,” he said, “I am not going to hurt you any more.  You may think it strange, but I really shall not kill you.  Arisa and I have loved each other for a long time, and since she has lived here, I have come to her almost every night.  I know your house almost as well as you do, and you have kindly told me that your friends are all looked in.  We shall therefore not have the trouble of leaving by the window, since we can go out by the front door, where my boat will be waiting for us.  You will never see us again.”

Contarini’s eyes rolled wildly, and still Arisa smiled.

“You have made him suffer,” she said.  “He loved me.”

“Before we go,” continued the Greek, folding his arms and looking down upon his miserable enemy, “I think it fair to warn you that under the praying-stool in Arisa’s room there is an air shaft through which we have heard all your conversation, during these secret meetings of yours.  If you try to pursue us, I shall send information to the Ten, which will cut off most of your heads.  As they are so empty it might seem to be scarcely worth while to take them, but the Ten know best.  I can rely on your discretion.  If I were not sure of it I would accede to this dear lady’s urgent request and cut you up into small pieces.”

Contarini writhed and sputtered, but could make no sound.