Neither of these two men exhibited any signs of fear. The first faced death with the dogged pluck of an animal, the second with a somewhat higher sort of courage. The third man alone, the Frenchman, showed that he was suffering the agonies of acute terror. The little Spaniard, observing this, nodded to him now and then, smiling maliciously, and the big man scowled at him with surly contempt. The Frenchman's face was quite white, and the perspiration poured down it in streams; his lips quivered, and, holding on to the rail of the dock with hands tightly clenched, he listened with intense attention to every word of judge or advocate. The features of this man, though distorted with fear, were delicate and refined. His handsome face was more like that of a Provençal gentleman than of a rough sailor. He was a well-knit man of about thirty, with the blue-black hair of the South. Over his fine and expressive eyes were bushy black brows, which almost met on his forehead, giving him a somewhat sinister appearance. Carew found himself taking a strange, morbid interest in watching these three faces. In some way he identified himself with the prisoners. Had not they committed a crime only in degree differing from his own? The day might come when he too would be tried for his life. He wondered whether he would then look like the dogged Basque, the cowardly Frenchman, or the other. He had always flattered himself that he did not fear death; but how difficult to know how he would face it until his time came! At last, amid complete silence, judgment was given. Carew could not understand the words, but he knew their import-- "Not guilty!" The spectators groaned and hissed when they heard this decision. The Frenchman fell back fainting. The big Spaniard glanced boldly round the court with a ferocious scowl, and he made an involuntary motion with his right hand, as if he held his knife in it and was longing to rip up a few of his enemies. The little man smiled, and bowed pleasantly to the court, after the manner of an actor who is acknowledging his tribute of applause. CHAPTER V The attorney and Carew left the court, the former volubly indignant at the miscarriage of justice, the latter moody and thoughtful. "And now," cried the Hollander, "here we are at the best café in Rotterdam. Come in, and let us wash out the taste of crime with some beer." They sat down at one of the little round tables, and two tall glasses foaming at the brim were placed before them. "They have all the English papers here," said the advocate. "I will ask the waiter to bring you one." Carew looked round the room, and suddenly his face paled, for he saw sitting at a table at some distance off a fellow-countryman, whom he recognised as a tobacconist in Fleet Street, a man who, no doubt, knew Carew's name and profession well, for the solicitor had often made purchases at his shop.