It was past midnight when Jacopo Contarini barred the door of his house and was alone.

He took one of the candles from the inner room, put out all the others and was already in the hall, when he remembered that he had left his winnings on the table.

Going back he opened the embroidered wallet he wore at his belt and swept the heap of heavy yellow coins into it.

As the last disappeared into the bag and rang upon the others he distinctly heard a sound in the room.

He started and looked about him.
It was not exactly the sound of a soft footfall, nor of breathing, but it might have been either.