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Rh While Fabriano spoke the man's eyes anxiously searched the room for a means of escape, and finally came back to the calm face of the Prince. He glanced from the heavy amber liquor before him to the shining weapon with which Fabriano lovingly toyed, and then, with a quiet heroism which Hardy could not help but admire, he raised the glass to his lips and drained it.

He sat there for a minute or two, gazing stupidly at the empty glass. Then, of a sudden, he began to tremble violently; his teeth chattered, and great beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead. On his lips there came a yellowish foam, and he started to his feet, clawing at his breast as if it were on fire, while a hoarse, cackling noise came from his throat. Doctor Hardy knew that the man must be suffering horribly, and, guilty as he believed him to be, could only pity.

Rocking to and fro, Folengo threw himself upon the floor, where he lay writhing and twisting in his death agony. His face turned black, and his eyes started from his head, like those of a strangled man. After that he lay quite still.

Doctor Hardy stooped and felt for the man's heart. There was not the trace of a beat. He turned to the Prince, who had sat through the whole scene with a smiling face, and said, "You are amply avenged, Prince Fabriano. That man died the most terrible death I have witnessed in twenty years of practice."

Fabriano, still smiling strangely, poured out two more glasses of the wine which the dead man had just drunk. "So be it with all assassins!" he said. "Drink to the downfall of my enemy!"

"No, thank you!" answered Hardy, drily, thinking the ghastly deed was being carried too far, "life has still a few attractions."

"Oh, as you will," replied the Prince carelessly. "Then I must drink alone," and he emptied the glass.

"But you are missing something choice," he continued, wiping his lips. "That wine has been in my cellars for fifty years. The stuff our late friend sent is safely locked away for analysis, together with a poisoned dagger and an infernal machine, both of which, I believe, I owe to him or his followers. If you were coroner in this case, what would your verdict be—death from a guilty conscience,, supplemented by a vivid imagination? Come, I believe it’s my first deal this evening."