“That is true, Matteo; but at the same time, in a war it is fair fighting, while a stab in the back is a cowardly business.”

“It is not always fair fighting,” Matteo replied.  “You hear of castles being surprised, and the people massacred without a chance of resistance; of villages being burned, and the people butchered unresistingly.  I don’t think there is so much more fairness one way than the other.  Polani knows he will have to be careful, and if he likes he can hire bravos to put Ruggiero out of the way, just as Ruggiero can do to remove him.  There’s a good deal to be said for both sides of the question.”

Francis felt this was so, and that although he had an abhorrence of the Venetian method of settling quarrels, he saw that as far as the public were concerned, it was really preferable to the feudal method, of both parties calling out their retainers and going to war with each other, especially as assassinations played no inconsiderable part in the feudal struggles of the time.

On the Thursday night the gondola was in waiting at the agreed spot.  Francis had thought it probable that the stranger might this time ask some questions as to where they lived and their usual place of plying for hire, and would endeavour to find out as much as he could about them, as they could not but suspect that he was engaged in some very unusual enterprise.  He had therefore warned Giuseppi to be very careful in his replies.  He knew that it was not necessary to say more, for Giuseppi had plenty of shrewdness, and would, he was sure, invent some plausible story without the least difficulty, possessing, as he did, plenty of the easy mendacity so general among the lower classes of the races inhabiting countries bordering on the Mediterranean.  Their fare came down to the gondola a few minutes after the clock had tolled the half hour.

“I see you are punctual,” he said, “which is more than most of you men are.”

Francis was rowing the bow oar, and therefore stood with his back to the passenger, and was not likely to be addressed by him, as he would naturally turn to Giuseppi, who stood close behind him.  As Francis had expected, as soon as they were out on the lagoon the passenger turned to his companion and began to question him.

“I cannot see your faces,” he said; “but by your figures you are both young, are you not?”

“I am but twenty-two,” Giuseppi said, “and my brother is a year younger.”

“And what are your names?”

“Giovanni and Beppo Morani.”

“And is this boat your own?”

“It is, signor.  Our father died three years ago, leaving us his boat.”

“And where do you usually ply?”

“Anywhere, signor, just as the fancy seizes us.  Sometimes one place is good, sometimes another.”

“And where do you live?”

“We don’t live anywhere, signor.  When night comes, and business is over, we tie up the boat to a post, wrap ourselves up, and go to sleep at the bottom.  It costs nothing, and we are just as comfortable there as we should be on straw in a room.”