Hugh watched him go, then turned to Dick and said: 

“I mistrust me of that hungry wolf in sheep’s clothing who talks so large and yet does nothing.  Let us go out and search Avignon again.  Perchance we may meet Acour, or at least gather some tidings of him.”

So they went, leaving the Tower locked and barred, who perchance would have been wiser to follow Basil.  A debased and fraudulent lawyer of no character at all, this man lived upon such fees as he could wring without authority from those who came to lay their suits before the Papal Court, playing upon their hopes and fears and pretending to a power which he did not possess.  Had they done so, they might have seen him turn up a certain side street, and, when he was sure that none watched him, slip into the portal of an ancient house where visitors of rank were accustomed to lodge.

Mounting some stairs without meeting any one, for this house, like many others, seemed to be deserted in that time of pestilence, he knocked upon a door.

“Begone, whoever you are,” growled a voice from within.  “Here there are neither sick to be tended nor dead to be borne away.”

Had they been there to hear it, Hugh and Dick might have found that voice familiar.

“Noble lord,” he replied, “I am the notary, Basil, and come upon your business.”

“Maybe,” said the voice, “but how know I that you have not been near some case of foul sickness and will not bring it here?”

“Have no fear, lord; I have been waiting on the healthy, not on the sick—­a task which I leave to others who have more taste that way.”

Then the door was opened cautiously, and from the room beyond it came a pungent odour of aromatic essences.  Basil passed in, shutting it quickly behind him.  Before him at the further side of the table and near to a blazing fire stood Acour himself.  He was clothed in a long robe and held a piece of linen that was soaked in some strong-smelling substance before his nose and mouth.

“Nay, come no nearer,” he said to the clerk, “for this infection is most subtle, and—­be so good as to cast off that filthy cloak of yours and leave it by the door.”

Basil obeyed, revealing an undergarment that was still more foul.  He was not one who wasted money on new apparel.

“Well, man,” said Acour, surveying him with evident disgust and throwing a handful of dried herbs upon the fire, “what news now?  Has my cause been laid before his Holiness?  I trust so, for know that I grow weary of being cooped up here like a falcon in a cage with the dread of a loathsome death and a handful of frightened servants as companions who do nothing but drone out prayers all day long.”

“Yes, lord, it has.  I have it straight from Clement’s own secretary, and the answer is that his Holiness will attend to the matter when the pest has passed away from Avignon, and not before.  He adds also that when it does so, if ever, all the parties to the cause, by themselves or by their representatives, must appear before him.  He will give no ex parte judgment upon an issue which, from letters that have reached him appears to be complicated and doubtful.”