It was already late.  Alan dozed off, despite his uneasiness, for he had had a tiring day.  Suddenly he awoke and sat bolt upright.  There was a commotion in the street.  The innkeeper was peeping out through a hole in the solid shutters.  “It is the clerk again,” he said.  “He is haranguing the people.”

Alan slipped out and came up on the outskirts of the crowd.  He caught the words “fool’s gold” in Simon’s shrill voice, and then the crowd began to mutter, “Die Hexe!  Die Hexe!”

Alan waited to hear no more.  He knew that this meant that sinister thing, a witch-hunt.  If Simon had connected Stefano’s house and his reputed hoard of gold with his disastrous experiment, and possibly suspected Josian’s existence there, it was a time for quick thought and bold action.  He raced down the street leading to the rear of the house, vaulted the wall and found old Maddalena unlocking the small side door.

“Get her away,” he said in a low voice, “at once—­there is danger!”

The old woman pointed up the stairs, and Alan went leaping over them to find the girl hooded and cloaked for the journey in the small room, now bare and cold as the moonlight.  Her soft light steps kept pace with his to the garden gate; he hurried her and Maddalena out, bidding them walk away quietly.  Then he turned back, heaped a pile of straw and rubbish under the stairs, and flung the contents of a lighted charcoal brazier on it.  As the fire blazed up he heard the snarl of the mob coming down the street which passed the front entrance.  He could hear words in the incoherent shouting--"Die Hexe!  Die Hexe!  Brennen—­brennen!”

As he shut the gate and slipped away he found Martin Bouvin keeping pace with him, “Do you know what has happened?” the little man asked.  “The guests at the Prince’s banquet came late into the street and found Simon raving about his gold.  They questioned him, and he told them of a mysterious house where an old witch dwelt and changed into a young girl at sunset.  The Prince knew the house.  He asked Master Stefano what it meant.  When he got no answer but a jest he struck Stefano down and rode over him.  He is dead.  Then the people caught up the cry and began to talk of burning the witch.  They are all out there now, and the Prince is trying to make his guard go in after the gold.  That was a good thought of yours, setting fire to the house:  they will stay to watch it.  I will go with you if I may, Master.  If Stefano is gone Goslar is no good place for me!”

Alan remembered now that the jester had spoken in terms of friendship of Martin Bouvin.  In any case they were now nearing the gate where the man stood waiting with the horses.  Josian and Maddalena were already mounted.  As the servant held Alan’s stirrup the Englishman looked down and saw under the hood the black piercing eyes and thin face of Giovanni.

“It is all right,” whispered the Milanese with a glance at Bouvin.  “He can ride the pack-horse.  His only reason for staying here was Stefano’s business.”