He unbuttoned his frock-coat (I had never seen him wear any garment less formal) and took out of it a slender little volume in vellum covers. He passed it to me in silence. I opened it. It was a manuscript copy, roughly stitched together. I recognized the handwriting as that of St. Hilary.

“Well?” I asked curiously, returning it to him.

“This is a crude translation of certain passages in the Diary of Marius Sanudo, a Venetian who lived about the beginning of the sixteenth century. I made this translation in the Royal Library at Vienna the other day. The Diary is one of the rarest books in the world. You are wide enough awake to listen to it for an hour or two?”

“It concerns the clock?”

“It concerns the casket and the clock. You may imagine these extracts as being divided into two chapters. Chapter I–concerning the jewels and the casket; Chapter II–the clock. My remarks may be supposed to constitute a third chapter. You have heard of Beatrice d’Este, the Duchess of Milan and wife of Ludovico the Moor?”

“Practically only what you have told me about her. I know she lived during the latter part of the fifteenth century.”

“Then I suppose you have never seen her portrait, attributed to Leonardo da Vinci. It hangs in the Ambrosiana Library at Milan, the second room to the left as you enter; and I assure you that it is well worth a little pilgrimage to Milan to see. It is a profile of extraordinary charm–a young girl of eighteen. It is difficult to imagine this adorable child–for she was only twenty-two when she died–as an ambassadress to the most powerful court in Europe.

“Her husband, Ludovico, toward the last part of his reign, was hard pressed by his foes. After intrigues with two kings and a pope, he found himself caught in the web of his own treachery. He needed money to pay his allies. But his wonderful Sala del Tesoro, with its oak chest of gold and plate, was empty. Only the jewels were left. I have already told you that this collection has never since been equaled in artistic value.

“Now, if you are familiar with the financial methods of these princes of the Renaissance, you will know that in times of stress they resorted to the rather vulgar expedient of simply putting their jewels in pawn.

“Beatrice had conducted these delicate little transactions at Venice for her husband more than once. But now, before she had recourse to this last desperate expedient, she was to plead before the Signory, as his ambassadress, for help both of money and men. If the Signory refused to help Ludovico, her husband, she was to appeal to the Doge; for the old man had already shown the utmost regard for this high-spirited young duchess. If, however, both Doge and Signory failed her, she was to pawn the jewels with Albani, the richest goldsmith in Venice.

“With this introduction, I will read you the first extract from the Diary of Messer Sanudo:

“‘Of all the cities of the world, Venice is the one where the greatest honor is paid to strangers. But never was lord or lady received with greater joy by the Signory in council. The Doge himself conducted her to the seat of honor, and all eyes were turned to her in admiration at her divine beauty. She wore a gold brocade embroidered with crimson doves, with a jeweled feather in her cap, and a rope of pearls and diamonds around her neck, to which the priceless ruby, the most glorious stone, I think, man has ever seen, called El Spigo, is fastened as pendant.

“‘All were amazed at the words of wisdom and eloquence that fell from her childish lips. She set forth her love for Venice, and piteously implored our help against Milan’s foes. If it were not possible for us to furnish men, at least let her not return quite empty of hand to her dear lord; for she would rather die than cause him such grief and despair.

“‘The Signory and Doge listened to her courteously. When she had ended, the Doge rose and thanked her graciously for the words she had spoken. He declared that nothing would give the Signory greater joy than to do all she had asked. But he reminded her that at this time Venice was herself at war with Genoa, her hereditary foe. Her own treasury was empty. There was hardly to be found in all Venice a noble or plebeian who had not loaned to the state money out of his private fortune. When he had said this, he descended from his dais again, and gently taking her by the hand, so led her without, the Signory being moved to admiration at her dignity and grace.’”

“And of course they denied her petition, since they were Venetians?”

“That goes without saying. Have I not said that the jewels remain in Venice to this day? At least the more glorious part of them.”

“I am impatient to hear of them.”

St. Hilary again read from the Diary of Sanudo:

“‘This day the duchess went in state to see the treasure of San Marco. As the bucentaur, containing the Doge and one hundred and fifty of her company, entered the Canale Grande, the duchess confessed that never before had she beheld the like. From the windows and the balconies, hung with the richest tapestries, noble ladies, glittering with gold chains and gems, looked down on the sumptuous scene. It was the finest sight of the whole world. And when they landed at the Molo, they could hardly force their way through the press, though the Doge himself walked in front of them. Every one turned to look at the magnificent jewels on the duchess. On every side I heard, “This is the wife of Signor Ludovico. Look what fine jewels she wears! What splendid diamonds and rubies!” And indeed every part of her vest whereon was embroidered the two towers of the port of Genoa was covered with them.

“‘And when they came out of the treasure-house, I myself heard the Doge say, “It is but a poor sight for you, dear lady, seeing that the jewels which adorn you are as many and beautiful as those we guard so carefully.” (Words that had better have been left unsaid, for such light words bring into discredit the glories of our Venice.)

“The duchess answered boastingly (and who indeed could blame her, seeing that the Doge should not have said what he did?), “Do these poor stones please your Excellency? To-morrow I shall show you some gems that are indeed wonderful.”

“‘And the Doge said sorrowfully, “I shall await to-morrow with the greatest eagerness in the world.”’”

St. Hilary laid the book face downward on his knees.

“Now, it is a matter of record, Hume, that she did show the stones to the Doge. Whether he fell under the glamour of their beauty, or the charm and witchery of the lovely ambassadress, does not concern us. What does concern us is the fact that the jewels were not locked up in the strong-box of Albani the Jew, but of the Doge.”

“And the gems were never redeemed?” I interrupted.

“Never. Beatrice returned from her mission only to die a few months later. Ludovico was taken captive by Louis of France, who dragged him to Lyons, where, like a wild beast, he perished miserably in an iron cage.

“The next extract that I shall read from the Diary of Sanudo is two years later. During these two years his pages are full of the troubles Venice was caused by her enemy Genoa, and the straits to which she was put to raise funds. Every citizen, we read, contributed his dole, however humble. Except the Doge. Sanudo refers again and again to the increasing distrust at this strange negligence on the part of the chief officer of the state. But we know that his fortune was completely tied up in the jewels.”

“But why did he not pawn the jewels?” I interrupted. “He must have known that Beatrice was dead. They could never be redeemed.”

“Ah, that’s a pertinent question. Let our Diarist answer it for you. This answer, I assure you, will be of interest:

“‘This day, the fourteenth of November, in the year of our blessed Lord fourteen hundred and ninety-nine, I have heard that which is more incredible than the travels of Messer Marco Polo to the great Mogul of Tartary. Scarce an hour has passed that I was told it by one of the Signory himself; and I hasten to write it down, lest any of its wonders escape me.

“‘All Venice knows that though our Doge is the richest in the state, yet he alone hath contributed to the treasury no proportion of the greatness of his fortune. So that to-day, when one after another in the Signory bemoaned the lack of money, and the Doge sat silent and neither made excuse nor offered aid, murmurs of discontent and suspicion arose louder than any that have yet been heard. At first the Doge smiled bravely and affected to listen as heretofore. But there were those who saw him tremble for very fear. And presently, one bolder than the rest, charged the Doge to his face with treachery, in thus hiding his wealth in the time of the state’s direst need. Still the Doge kept silence, until murmurs and shouts arose on all sides. Then he arose, half dead for fear, and declared that he would explain all. And this is the manner of his speaking:

“‘“My lords of the Signory, I beseech you to have patience and listen to me; for that I am indeed the most unfortunate of men you will see when I have done speaking. The whole of my wealth did I loan to Ludovico the Moor, at the entreaty of his wife, when last she visited this state two years ago. She promised that she would redeem the gems before a year was passed. But you, lords, know how she hath died and her husband Ludovico lies imprisoned.

“‘“My lords, I had for the duchess the tenderness of a father for a beloved daughter, and thinking that I would give her pleasure, when she should come again to redeem her jewels, I hired Giovanni da Sestos, the goldsmith, whose renown as an artist you all know, to make a casket for the gems that should be as beautiful as the very gems themselves.

“‘“It was to be so small that it could be carried about. Yet it was to be so strong that the most skilful thief would be baffled to break it open. For when it was once closed, certain springs ingeniously contrived by clockwork made it impossible even for the man who possessed the casket to open it till a day of twelve hours should have passed.

“‘“I had made promise to Messer Giovanni that he should receive three payments for his task. Two payments I made to him; one, when he undertook the work; another, that he might buy the gems with which the cover was to be richly adorned. The third payment I promised to make when the casket should be given into my hands.

“‘“But hardly had Giovanni finished his task when Beatrice died. And, my lords of the Signory, knowing now that the jewels could never be redeemed, seeing that Ludovico is in prison and his wife dead, I vowed that I would now pawn them to Albani the Jew, that I might at last help the state in her need.

“‘“But when Giovanni wrote to me to say that the casket, which he had at last completed, was more beautiful than anything like it since the beginning of the world, I longed greatly to see the jewels in the glorious box before they should be out of my possession forever. And now see how the heavy hand of God hath punished me for my weakness.

“‘“For I had written to Giovanni to bring to me the casket alone and at night. (For I did not wish that any should know that I possessed the gems till I had pawned them and until the money should be paid into the treasury of the state.) I bade him come at the hour of twelve to my bed-chamber. I told him I should receive him alone. I would let him in by a secret stairway.

“‘“And so, when all Venice slept, I admitted him to my room, where there was none other than myself, except the guard.

“‘“My lords of the Signory, never did I dream of anything so rare and beautiful as that casket. It seemed to me that I should die for very desire of it. And at last I thought of a cunning plan. Giovanni himself fell guilelessly in with this plan. For he was eager to see whether the gems would fit the little pockets that he had made for each of the more costly. And so we placed the gems in the pocket of the casket, and then, as if by chance, I closed the cover, which could not be opened for a whole day of twelve hours. And now, I thought, Giovanni must leave both casket and gems; for I had intended to put him off with smooth promises, saying that it was late, and that on the morrow he should have his third payment of money.

“‘“But Giovanni clasped the casket in both his hands and swore he would not leave it with me until I should have paid him every ducat I owed him. But the man’s anger was without reason, for he knew I could not pay him the money that he asked until I had first pawned the jewels. And presently, when I attempted to soothe him, he became as violent as a wild beast. (And indeed the goldsmith da Sestos, though a great artist, was always, I verily believe, half mad.) The guard at last became afraid for my life. For Giovanni swore that I had entrapped him, and obstinately refused to leave the palace until I should have paid him all.

“‘“Seeing now that nothing would move him to reason, I made pretense that I could fetch from the treasury the money he demanded; and leaving the guard in my bed-chamber to keep watch on the treasure, I left my room. But I was careful to draw the bolts after me, so that it was impossible that he should escape with the casket.

“‘“And indeed it was my purpose to call the soldiers of the guard who kept watch at the foot of the secret stairway, so that the insolent fellow might be thrust without the palace, for he had angered me greatly. I was without the chamber but a few moments, but when I returned with the guard and the doors were unbolted, a scene of horror met my eyes.

“‘“The guard lay dead with a dagger in his breast. Giovanni writhed on the floor in an agony of pain, grievously wounded, though not unto death. And the casket was gone.

“‘“My lords of the Signory, you will ask how the casket was gone, seeing that the door had been locked and the two men were both in my bed-chamber. But the window, looking out on the court of the Ducal Palace, was open. From the balcony hung a rope strong enough to bear the weight of a man.

“‘“It was many days before Giovanni came to his senses. Then he told how two men had been hid in the balcony. No sooner had I gone from the chamber than they had set on him and the guard. He accused me of hiding the men in the balcony. (I much wonder that I did not think of it. But, to my cost, I did not, and it is a man deprived of wealth and honor that speaks to you this day.)”

“‘The Signory heard the confession of the Doge for the most part in silence (though some there were that jeered). When he had finished, he who had first accused the Doge of treachery demanded what proof the senate might have of this fable, seeing that no doubt the Doge had caused the death of Giovanni. (And, indeed, it had been a great mystery, his disappearance.)

“‘At that the Doge made a sign, and one fetched Giovanni from the leads where he had been languishing since the stealing of the gems. But Giovanni protested with tears that far from being guilty himself, it was the Doge who had caused the gems to be taken, and nothing could shake him from this belief. So that at last there were many of the Signory who inclined to it. And presently, when they had questioned him closely, they decreed, partly because certain ones believed him innocent of all evil-doing, and partly because he was so incomparable an artist, that he should no longer be held a prisoner under the piombi of the Ducal Palace, but should return to his own house. But lest by any chance he had been guilty of the loss of the gems, he was there to be held a prisoner; and guards were appointed to have charge over him day and night.

“‘This is the truly miraculous story of the jewels of the Doge; but few in Venice believe it. For what goldsmith could not be bribed to swear to such a story? And as for the Doge, it would seem that the state could find one better fitted to wear the cap and ermine robe.’”

“And that is chapter one?” I asked, taking a long breath.

“That is chapter one,” echoed St. Hilary.