“Don’t frighten her away,” Francis said, laughing.  “She is the one pleasant thing I have in the day to look at.”

After some more talk the man retired, and Francis examined his prize.  It was a thin blade of fine steel, and he at once hid it in the earth which formed the floor of the hut.

An hour later the guard opened the door suddenly.  It was now dusk, and Francis was sitting quietly in a corner.

“Bring a light, Thomaso,” the guard shouted to his comrade outside.  “It is getting dark in here.”

The other brought a torch, and they carefully examined the floor of the cell.

“What is it that you are searching for?” Francis asked.

“I have dropped my dagger somewhere,” the man replied.  “I can’t think how it fell out.”

“When did you see it last?”

“Not since dinner time.  I know I had it then.  I thought possibly I might have dropped it here, and a dagger is not the sort of plaything one cares about giving to prisoners.”

“Chained as I am,” Francis said, “a dagger would not be a formidable weapon in my hands.”

“No,” the man agreed.  “It would be useless to you, unless you wanted to stick it into your own ribs.”

“I should have to sit down to be able to do even that.”

“That is so, lad.  It is not for me to question what the captain says, I just do as I am told.  But I own it does seem hard, keeping a young fellow like you chained up as if you were a wild beast.  If he had got Pisani or Zeno as a prisoner, and wanted to make doubly sure that they would not escape, it would be all well enough, but for a lad like you, with one man always at the door, and the window barred so that a lion couldn’t break through, I do think it hard to keep you chained like this; and the worst of it is, we are going to have to stop here to look after you till the captain gets back, and that may be three weeks or a month, who knows!”

“Why don’t you keep your mouth shut, Philippo?” the other man growled.  “It’s always talk, talk with you.  We are chosen because the captain can rely upon us.”

“He can rely upon anyone,” Philippo retorted, “who knows that he will get his throat cut if he fails in his duty.”

“Well, come along,” the other said, “I don’t want to be staying here all night.  Your dagger isn’t here, that’s certain, and as I am off guard at present, I want to be going.”

As soon as he was left alone, Francis unearthed the dagger, feeling sure that no fresh visit would be made him that evening.  As he had hoped, his first attempt showed him that the iron of the rivet was soft, and the keen dagger at once notched off a small piece of the burred end.  Again and again he tried, and each time a small piece of metal flew off.  After each cut he examined the edge of the dagger, but it was well tempered, and seemed entirely unaffected.