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As Alan stood in the doorway a figure rose from a pile of leaves in the corner. "Vanni!" said Alan under his breath. "Oh, he can be trusted," said Giovanni, with a glance at the guide. "I have been here two days. This was Archiater's private workshop. The mountain people think it is haunted, so that it is a good place to hide.
He would look at the sunset and calculate what the gold would be worth in zecchins he would. But why all this talk of the parchments?" "Because I have a mind to see whether any more of Archiater's work is to be found," said Alan quietly. "It may be a fool's errand, but I could not rest till I had made a beginning." Three faces looked astonished, sympathetic and interested.
His writings were supposed to have been burned at the same time, but not all of them were, for three manuscripts at least must have gone to make up the fragments we found among our bezants. I wish for your sake, Alan, my son, that I could tell you more, for I know of no man who would gain more by Archiater's work than you. If he had been your master I think you might have rivaled the Venetians."
The jester bowed low, his gay fantastic cap in hand, all his fleering, mocking manner changed to a gentle deference. "Josian, my dear," he said, "this is the young man of whom I sent you word. He has traveled many weary miles to see and speak with Archiater's daughter."
"She is Archiater's only child she has his signet ring and his letters written her from prison only two, but I risked my own life to get them for her. When they took him away they did not know that such a little creature existed. She was but seven years old, and her nurse, Maddalena, hid with her in a chest in the garret, telling her that it was a game.
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