Keyork was learning more from her than she from him.  It was true that she took no trouble to conceal her interest in the Wanderer and his doings.

“Are you sure that he has left the city?” Beatrice asked.

“No, I am not positive.  I could not say with certainty.”

“When did you see him last?”

“Within the week, I am quite sure,” Keyork answered with alacrity.

“Do you know where he was staying?”

“I have not the least idea,” the little man replied, without the slightest hesitation.  “We met at first by chance in the Teyn Kirche, one afternoon—­it was a Sunday, I remember, about a month ago.”

“A month ago—­on a Sunday,” Beatrice repeated thoughtfully.

“Yes—­I think it was New Year’s Day, too.”

“Strange,” she said.  “I was in the church that very morning, with my maid.  I had been ill for several days—­I remember how cold it was.  Strange—­the same day.”

“Yes,” said Keyork, noting the words, but appearing to take no notice of them.  “I was looking at Tycho Brahe’s monument.  You know how it annoys me to forget anything—­there was a word in the inscription which I could not recall.  I turned round and saw him sitting just at the end of the pew nearest to the monument.”

“The old red slab with a figure on it, by the last pillar?” Beatrice asked eagerly.

“Exactly.  I daresay you know the church very well.  You remember that the pew runs very near to the monument so that there is hardly room to pass.”

“I know—­yes.”

She was thinking that it could hardly have been a mere accident which had led the Wanderer to take the very seat she had occupied on the morning of that day.  He must have seen her during the Mass, but she could not imagine how he could have missed her.  They had been very near then.  And now, a whole month had passed, and Keyork Arabian professed not to know whether the Wanderer was still in the city or not.

“Then you wish to be informed of our friend’s movements, as I understand it?” said Keyork going back to the main point.

“Yes—­what happened on that day?” Beatrice asked, for she wished to hear more.

“Oh, on that day?  Yes.  Well, nothing happened worth mentioning.  We talked a little and went out of the church and walked a little way together.  I forget when we met next, but I have seen him at least a dozen times since then, I am sure.”

Beatrice began to understand that Keyork had no intention of giving her any further information.  She reflected that she had learned much in this interview.  The Wanderer had been, and perhaps still was, in Prague.  Unorna loved him and they had been frequently together.  He had been in the Teyn Kirche on the day she had last been there herself, and in all probability he had seen her, since he had chosen the very seat in which she had sat.  Further, she gathered that Keyork had some interest in not speaking more frankly.