They made long round plugs of soft pine to fit the holes exactly, each one scored with a channel a quarter of an inch deep, which was on the upper side when they had driven the plugs into their places, and was intended to lead the water along the wood, so as to wet it more thoroughly.  To do this Malipieri poked long cotton wicks into each channel with a wire, as far as possible.  He made Masin buy half-a-dozen coarse sponges and tied one upon the upper end of each projecting plug.  Finally he wet all the sponges thoroughly and wound coarse cloths loosely round them to keep in as much of the water as possible.  By pouring on water from time to time the soft wood was to be ultimately wet through, the wicks leading the moisture constantly inward, and in the end the great block must inevitably be split into halves.  It is the prehistoric method, and there never was any other way of cleaving very hard stone until gunpowder first brought in blasting.  It is slow, but it is quite sure.

The place where the two men had been working was many feet below the level of the courtyard, but the porter could now and then hear the sound of blows echoing underground through the vast empty cellars, even when he stood near the great entrance.

Toto heard the noise too, one day, as he was standing still to light his pipe in the Vicolo dei Soldati.  When it struck his ear he let the match burn out till it singed his horny fingers.  His expression became even more blank than usual, but he looked up and down the street, to see if he were alone, and upward at the windows of the house opposite.  Nobody was in sight, but in order to place his ear close to the wall and listen, he made a pretence of fastening his shoe-string.  The sound came to him from very far beneath, regular as the panting of an engine.  He knew his trade, and recognized the steady hammering on the end of a stone drill, very unlike the irregular blows of a pickaxe or a crowbar.  The “moles” were at work, and knew their business; sooner or later they would break through.  But Toto could not guess that the work was being actually done by Malipieri and his servant, without help.  One man alone could not do it, and the profound contempt of the artisan for any outsider who attempts his trade, made Toto feel quite sure that one or more masons had been called in to make a breach in the foundation wall.  As he stood up and lighted his pipe at last, he grinned all alone, and then slouched on, his heart full of very evil designs.  Had he not always been the mason of the Palazzo Conti?  And his father before him?  And his grandfather, who had lost his life down there, where the moles were working?  And now that he was turned out, and others were called in to do a particularly confidential job, should he not be revenged?  He bit his pipe and thrust his rough hands deep into the pockets of his fustian trousers, and instead of turning into the wine shop to meet Gigi, he went off for a walk by himself through all the narrow and winding streets that lie between the Palazzo Conti and Monte Giordano.