and this bed were made. Yes, a Pope, my friends—no less a personage than Alexander VI.!"
He waited, like a skilled actor, for the tremendous sensation he expected and deserved. But it did not come. Unhappily for Signor Mannetti's great moment, his words conveyed no particular impression to anybody.
Sir Walter asked politely:
"And was he a good, or a bad Pope? I fear many of those gentlemen had little to their credit."
But the signor felt the failure of his great climax. At first he regretted it, and a wave of annoyance, even contempt, passed unseen through his mind; then he was glad that the secret should be hidden for another four-and-twenty hours, to gain immensely in dramatic sensation by delay. Already he was planning the future, and designing wonderful histrionics. He could not be positive that he was right; though now the old man felt very little doubt.
He did not answer Sir Walter's question, but asked one himself.
"The detectives examined this apartment with meticulous care, you say?"
"They did indeed."
"And yet what can care and zeal do; what can the most conscientious student achieve if his activities are confounded by ignorance? The amazing thing to me is that nobody should have had the necessary information to lead them at least in the right direction. And yet I run on too fast. After all, who shall be blamed, for it is, of course,
