se of the Syndic's lurking figure,
he began to doubt. He began to fear. He began to wait about the door
himself in the hope of detecting the other: and a dozen times between
dawn and dark he was on his feet at the upper window, looking warily
down, on the chance of seeing him in the Corraterie.

At last, slowly and against his will, the fear that the fish would not
bite began to take hold of him. Either the Syndic was honest, or he was
patient as well as cunning. In no other way could Basterga explain his
dupe's inaction. And presently, when he had almost brought himself to
accept the former conclusion, on an evening something more than a week
later, a thing happened that added sharpness to his anxiety. He was
crossing the bridge from the Quarter of St. Gervais, when a man cloaked
to the eyes slipped from the shadow of the mills, a little before him,
and with a slight but unmistakable gesture of invitation proceeded in
front of him without turning his head.

There was mist on the face of the river that rushed in a cataract below;
a steady rain was falling, and darkness itself was not far off. There
were few abroad, and those were going their ways without looking behind
them. A better time for a secret rendezvous could not be, and Messer
Basterga's heart leapt up and his spirits rose as he followed the
cloaked figure. At the end of the bridge the man turned leftwards on to
a deserted wharf between two mills; Basterga followed. Near the water's
edge the projecting upper floor of a granary promised shelter from the
rain; under this the stranger halted, and turning, lowered with a
brusque gesture his cloak from his face. Alas, the eager "Why, Messer
Blondel----" that leapt to Basterga's lips died on them. He stood
speechless with disappointment, choking with chagrin. The stranger noted
it and laughed.

"Well," he said in French, his tone dry and sarcastic, "you do not seem
overpleased to see me, Monsieur Basterga! Nor am I surprised. Large
promises have ever small fulfilments!"

"His Highness has discovered that?" Basterga replied, in a tone no less
sarcastic. For his temper was roused.

The stranger's eyes flickered, as if the other's words touched a sore.
"His Highness is growing impatient!" he returned, his tone somewhat
warmer. "That is what he has sent me to say. He has waited long, and he
bids me convey to you that if he is to wait longer he must have some
security that you are likely to succeed in your design."