Craftall remained perfectly still till the door was closed, when, with a stealthy step, he also proceeded thitherwards. On reaching it, however, he did not draw it open, but, bending on one knee, knelt down before it, and applied his ear to the keyhole. He continued in this posture till, after an interval of about half an hour, a noise within induced him to rise, and retreat to the contiguous desk. Just as he arrived at the desk, the door was opened from within, and Don Felix reappeared.
Craftall pretended to be startled on his entry; but the Spaniard, full of other thoughts, took no heed of him, but passed across the chamber in silence. On reaching the outer door, he turned round, and bade the wondering merchant a good-night.
“God-den, Sir!” replied Craftall. “May our Lady and St. Bridget”—
He paused; for Don Felix, not looking for a response, had passed out, and closed the door in his rear.
On being thus left to himself, Craftall mused a few moments, when, though it was contrary to his habit, he began to deliver his thoughts aloud.
“A week hence,” he said; “and the holy father is to go the night afore. ’Twill just serve me. We shall sail the same night.”
Whatever he might refer to, he dismissed the subject with these words, and directed his attention to a contiguous heap of accounts. He was engaged at the accounts till the night was far advanced; and the next morning, after having taken only a few hours’ rest, he turned to them again. Thus he laboured, night and day, with unceasing vigilance, till he found that his scheme was almost accomplished, and that he had now only to remove his last treasures to the ship.
It was on the sixth morning after the visit of Don Felix that this issue came fairly before him. While he was pondering thereon, he was joined by father Paul, the priest, booted and cloaked for a journey.
“Whither goest thou, holy father?” cried Craftall, with affected surprise—for he well knew the priest’s destination.