ance of life in the hollow of his hand.

And yet, if he dared adopt the latter course, if he dared give the word
to seize, there was a chance, and a good chance, that he would find the
_remedium_ in the casket; for with a little arrangement Basterga might
be arrested out of doors, or be allured to a particular place and there
be set upon. But in that way lay risk; a risk that chilled the current
of the Syndic's blood. There was the chance that the attempt might fail;
the chance that Basterga might escape; the chance that he might have the
_remedium_ about him--and destroy it; the chance that he might have
hidden it. There were so many chances, in a word, that the Syndic's
heart stood still as he enumerated them, and pictured the crash of his
last hope of life.

He could not face the risk. He could not. Though duty, though courage
dictated the venture, craven fear--fear for the loss of the new-born
hope that for a week had buoyed him up--carried it. Hurriedly at last,
as if he feared that he might change his mind, he pronounced his
decision.

"I doubt the wisdom of touching him," he said. "To seize him if he be
guilty proclaims our knowledge of the plot; it will be laid aside, and
another, of which we may not be informed, will be hatched. But let him
be watched, and it will be hard if with the knowledge we have we cannot
do something more than frustrate his scheme."

After an interval of silence, "Well," Fabri said, drawing a deep breath
and looking round, "I believe you are right. What do you say, Messer
Baudichon?"

"Messer Blondel knows the man," Baudichon answered drily. "He is,
therefore, the best judge."

Blondel reddened. "I see you are determined to lay the responsibility on
me," he cried.

"The responsibility is on you already!" Petitot retorted. "You have
decided. I trust it may turn out as you expect."

"And as you do not expect!"

"No; but you see"--and again the Inquisitor looked over his
glasses--"you know the man, have been to his lodging, have conversed
with him, and are the best judge what he is! I have had naught to do
with him. By the way," he turned to Fabri, "he is at Mere Royaume's, is
he not? Is there not a Spaniard of the name of Grio lodging there?"

Blondel did not answer and the secretary looked up from his register.
"An old soldier, Messer Petitot?" he said. "Yes, there is."

"Perhaps you know him also, Messer Blondel?"

"Yes, I know him. He served the State," Blondel answered q