Then his face grew stern, and he lowered his voice until it was no more than a growling whisper.

"Heed me, Messer Gonzaga.
If the service you require be the slitting of a gullet or some kindred foul business, which my seeming neediness leads you to suppose me ripe for, let me counsel you, as you value your own skin, to leave the service unmentioned, and get you gone." In hasty, frantic, fearful protest were Gonzaga's hands outspread.
"Sir, sir--I--I could not have thought it of you," he spluttered, with warmth, much of which was genuine, for it rejoiced him to see some scruples still shining in the foul heap of this man's rascally existence.

A knave whose knavery knew no limits would hardly have suited his ends.

"I do need a service, but it is no dark-corner work.

It is a considerable enterprise, and one in which, I think, you should prove the very man I need." "Let me know more," quoth Ercole grandiloquently.
"I need first your word that should the undertaking prove unsuited to you, or beyond you, you will respect the matter, and keep it secret." "Body of Satan! No corpse was ever half so dumb as I shall be." "Excellent! Can you find me a score of stout fellows to form a bodyguard and a garrison, who, in return for good quarters--perchance for some weeks--and payment at four times the ordinary mercenaries' rate, will be willing to take some risk, and chance even a brush with the Duke's forces ?" Ercole blew out his mottled cheeks until Gonzaga feared that he would burst them.
"It's outlawry!" he roared, when he had found his voice.