It was not a long story and it was told in
the language of an anonymous translator, but as John read on, his
listeners were drawn together, as by a spell. They scarcely breathed,
and the summer night that was so mildly beautiful seemed to take on a
sense of hovering danger. "In the palace of Giuliano de' Medici I have lived long. I am
    an old woman now, as the years are reckoned in this infamous
    place, though I am but fifty and three. "Separated from my betrothed, duped, sold into the marble
    labyrinth of this hateful palace, it was long before my
    spirit broke and I went forth, bejeweled and attired in
    elegance, among the silk-clad Florentines. I was labeled the
    most beautiful mistress of any of the Medici. I was smirked
    at, fawned upon for my lord's favors, obscenely jested about
    in the orgies that took place in the great banquet hall of
    the palace. "But in my heart always lay the remembrance of my lost love,
    and in my soul grew black hatred for the Medici and all their
    kind. I, who had dreamed only of a modest home, a kind
    husband, black-haired, trusting little children, was made a
    tool of the Medici infamy. "In time, I almost felt myself in league with the Devil. Secretly, and with a growing sense of elation, I made
    frequent rendezvous with a foul hag whose very name was
    anathema to the churchly folk of Florence. In her hole of a
    room in a certain noisome street, she imparted to me those
    terrible secrets of the Black Arts which were deep in her
    soul. It was amusing that she was paid in Medici gold. "The corruption of the Medici bred in them fear; in me a sort
    of reckless bravery. It was I who poisoned the wine of many a
    foe of the Medici. It was I who put the point of a dagger in
    the heart of the old Prince de Vittorio, whose lands and
    power and palaces were coveted by my lord, Giuliano. "After a time, bloodshed became an exhilaration to me; the
    death agonies of those who drank the poisoned cup became more
    interesting than the flattery of the Medici followers. Even
    the ladies of the house of the Medici did me the honor of
    their subtly barbed friendliness. "Through this very friendliness, I conceived my plan of sweet
    revenge upon the monsters who had ruined my life. With so
    great a hatred boiling in my soul that my mind reeled, my
    senses throbbed, my heart rose in my throat like a spurt of
    flame, I cursed three things of exquisite beauty with all the
    fervor of my newly learned lessons in devilish lore. "These three beautiful objects I presented to three ladies of
    the house of Medici--presented them with honeyed words of
    mock humility. A necklace of jeweled links--I pledged myself
    to the Devil and willed that the golden necklace would
    tighten on the soft throat of a lady of the Medici while she
    slept, and strangle her into black death. A bracelet of
    filigree and sapphires--to pierce by its hidden silver needle
    the blue vein in a white Medici wrist, so that her life's
    blood would spurt and she would know the terror that the
    house of the Medici gave to others. "Last, and most ingenious, a pair of creamy boots, pliable,
    embroidered in silver and silks, encrusted with amethysts--my
    betrothal jewels. In my hatred I cursed the boots, willing
    that the wearer, as long as a shred of the boots remained,
    should kill as I had killed, poison as I had poisoned, leave
    all thoughts of home and husband and live in wantonness and
    evil. So I cursed the beautiful boots, forgetting, in my
    hate, that perhaps another than a Medici might, in the years
    to come, wear them and become the Devil's pawn, even as I am
    now. "In my life, the Medici will have the boots, of that I feel
    sure; but after that--I can only hope that this bloody
    history of the boots may be found when I am no more, and may
    it be a warning. "I have lived to see my gifts received and worn, and I have
    laughed in my soul to see my curses bring death and terror
    and evil to three Medici women. I know not what will become
    of the golden necklace, the bracelet, or the boots. The boots
    may be lost or stolen, or they may lie in a Medici palace for
    age on age, but the curse will cling to them till they are
    destroyed. So I pray that no woman, save a Medici, will ever
    wear them. "As I live and breathe and do the bidding of the lords of
    Florence, the accursed Medici--I have told the truth. When I
    am dead, perhaps they will find this book, and, in hell, I
    shall know and be glad. "MARIA MODENA DI CAVOURI. "Florence, 1476." *       *       *       *       *

"Whew!" said old Erskine. John laughed. "I don't suppose this charming history would have been
any more thrilling if I had read it from the original book, in
Italian, of course. Wonder where Uncle got it! There was no mention of
it being in the library--but there it was." "Now, will you destroy those boots?" asked Eric, and he was not
entirely in jest. But Suzanne said, laughingly, "Not before I find out if the Medici
lady had a smaller foot than I! Are they still in the museum, John?" "Never you mind, my dear. They're not for the likes of you." "Oh, don't be silly, John. This is 1935, not the Fifteenth Century." And they laughed at Suzanne's earnestness. The book that held the story of the Medici boots lay on the white
cloth, looking like a book of lovely verse. Suzanne, a small white blur against the summer dark, sat quietly while
the men talked of Silas Dickerson, his life, his mania for collecting,
his death that had so fittingly come to him in his museum. It was
nearly twelve when Suzanne left the men on the terrace and with a
quiet "good-night" entered the living-room and crossed to the long,
shining stairs. The men went on with their talk. Once, John, looking toward the
jutting wing that was the museum, exclaimed, "Look at that, will you? Why--I'd swear I saw a light in the museum." "You locked it, didn't you?" asked Eric. "Of course; the key's in my desk upstairs. H-m. I'm probably mistaken,
but it did seem as though a light shone there just a moment ago." "Reflection from the living-room window, I think. Country life is
making you jittery, John." And Eric laughed at his brother. The men sat on, reluctant to leave the beauty of the night, and it was
almost two o'clock when they finally went inside. John said, "I think I'll not disturb Suzanne." And he went to sleep in
a wide four-postered bed in a room next to his wife. Eric and the old
lawyer were in rooms across the hall. *       *       *       *       *

The still summer night closed about the house of Silas Dickerson, and
when the moon lay dying against the bank of cloud, puffed across a sky
by the little wind that came before dawn, young Doctor Eric Delameter
awoke, suddenly and completely, to a feeling of clammy apprehension.