There was a sharp answer, a faint scuffle, and a snatch at the handle. This was indecent; so Percy stood up, made three strides of it to the door, and tore it open. A man stood there, whom at first he did not recognise, pale and disordered. “Why---” began Percy, and recoiled. “Mr. Phillips!” he said. The other threw out his hands. “It is I, sir--your Eminence--this moment arrived. It is life and death. Your servant tells me---” “Who sent you?” “Father Blackmore.” “Good news or bad?” The man rolled his eyes towards the servant, who still stood erect and offended a yard away; and Percy understood. He put his hand on the other’s arm, drawing him through the doorway. “Tap upon this door in two minutes, James,” he said. They passed across the polished floor together; Percy went to his usual place in the window, leaned against the shutter, and spoke. “Tell me in one sentence, sir,” he said to the breathless man. “There is a plot among the Catholics. They intend destroying the Abbey to-morrow with explosives. I knew that the Pope---” Percy cut him short with a gesture. CHAPTER VI I The volor-stage was comparatively empty this afternoon, as the little party of six stepped out on to it from the lift. There was nothing to distinguish these from ordinary travellers. The two Cardinals of Germany and England were wrapped in plain furs, without insignia of any kind; their chaplains stood near them, while the two men-servants hurried forward with the bags to secure a private compartment. The four kept complete silence, watching the busy movements of the officials on board, staring unseeingly at the sleek, polished monster that lay netted in steel at their feet, and the great folded fins that would presently be cutting the thin air at a hundred and fifty miles an hour. Then Percy, by a sudden movement, turned from the others, went to the open window that looked over Rome, and leaned there with his elbows on the sill, looking. * * * * * It was a strange view before him.