They got, however, some inkling of Wogan’s need before the morrow came.  In the middle of the night they were wakened by a wild scream and heard Wogan whispering in an agony for help.  They lighted a lamp and saw him lying with his hand upon his throat and his eyes starting from his head with horror.

“Quick,” said he, “the hand at my throat!  It’s not the letter so much, it’s my life they want.”

“It’s your own hand,” said Gaydon, and taking the hand he found it lifeless.  Wogan’s arm in that position had gone to sleep, as the saying is.  He had waked suddenly in the dark with the cold pressure at his throat, and in the moment of waking was back again alone in the inn near Augsburg.  Wogan indeed needed his friends.

CHAPTER IX

The next morning Wogan was tossing from side to side in a high fever.  The fever itself was of no great importance, but it had consequences of a world-wide influence, for it left Wogan weak and tied to his bed; so that it was Gaydon who travelled to Rome and obtained the Pope’s passport.  Gaydon consequently saw what otherwise Wogan would have seen; and Gaydon, the cautious, prudent Gaydon, was careful to avoid making an inopportune discovery, whereas Wogan would never have rested until he had made it.

Gaydon stayed in Rome a week, lying snug and close in a lodging only one street removed from that house upon the Tiber where his King lived.  Secrets had a way of leaking out, and Gaydon was determined that this one should not through any inattention of his.  He therefore never went abroad until dark, and even then kept aloof from the house which overlooked the Tiber.  His business he conducted through his servant, sending him to and fro between Edgar, the secretary, and himself.  One audience of his King alone he asked, and that was to be granted him on the day of his departure from Rome.

Thus the time hung very heavily upon him.  From daybreak to dusk he was cooped within a little insignificant room which looked out upon a little insignificant street.  His window, however, though it promised little diversion, was his one resource.  Gaydon was a man of observation, and found a pleasure in guessing at this and that person’s business from his appearance, his dress, and whether he went fast or slow.  So he sat steadily at his window, and after a day or two had passed he began to be puzzled.  The moment he was puzzled he became interested.  On the second day he drew his chair a little distance back from the window and watched.  On the third day he drew his chair close to the window, but at the side and against the wall.  In this way he could see everything that happened and everyone who passed, and yet remain himself unobserved.