Wondering whether it would ever be their lot to look upon these chests and their contents again, they left the cellar, to find the old woman knocking at the back door of the house, whither she had returned, frightened by the sights and sounds in the city.  They bade her bring them food, which they needed much who had laboured so hard on that sorrowful day, and after they had eaten took counsel together.

“Seeing that all three of us are still in health, as if there is anything in the promises of Murgh we should remain, is it not time, master,” asked Grey Dick, “that we left this accursed Venice?  Now that Sir Geoffrey is gone, there is naught to keep us here.”

“One thing I have to do first,” answered Hugh, “and it is to learn whether Sir Edmund Acour, lord of Cattrina, is dead or living, and if living where he hides himself away.  While Sir Geoffrey lay dying we could not leave him to make search, but now it is otherwise.”

“Ay, master, though I think you’ll find the task hard in this hive of pestilence and confusion.”

“I have heard that the plague is at work in Cattrina’s palace,” broke in David, “but when I asked whether he were there or no, none could tell me.  That is not a house where you’ll be welcomed, Sir Hugh.”

“Still I will make bold to knock at his doors to-morrow,” answered Hugh.  “Now let us seek what we all need—­sleep.”

So on the following morning shortly after sunrise Hugh and Grey Dick, guided by David, took boat and rowed through most fearful scenes and sounds to the Palazzo Cattrina, a splendid but somewhat dilapidated building situated in a part of the city that, like itself, had seen more prosperous times.  The great doors of the place set in a marble archway stood half open.  Over them were cut the cognizance of the floating swan, and beneath, in letters of faded gold, the titles of Acour, de Noyon, and Cattrina.  No wonder they were open, since the porter’s lodge was occupied only by a grisly corpse that lay rotting on the floor, a heavy key in its hand.  The courtyard beyond was empty and so, save for a dead horse, were the stables to the right.  Passing up the steps of the hall that also stood open, they entered.

Here the place was in confusion, as though those who dwelt there had left in haste.  The mouldering remains of a meal lay on the broad oak table; a great dower-chest inlaid with ivory, but half filled with arms and armour, stood wide.  A silver crucifix that had hung above was torn down and cast upon the floor, perchance by thieves who had found it too heavy to bear away.  The earthquake had thrown over a carved cabinet and some bowls of glazed ware that stood upon it.  These lay about shattered amidst shields and swords thrown from the walls, where pictures of saints or perchance of dead Cattrinas hung all awry.  In short, if an army had sacked it this stately hall could scarce have seemed more ruined.

Hugh and Dick crossed it to a stairway of chestnut wood whereof every newel-post was surmounted by the crest of a swan, and searched the saloons above, where also there was wreck and ruin.  Then, still mounting the stair, they came to the bed-chambers.  From one of these they retreated hastily, since on entering it hundreds of flies buzzing in a corner advised them that something lay there which they did not wish to see.