“The gold is bew-witched!” bubbled Simon, arms waving and eyes rolling in terrified despair. “It is changed in the crucible! It is the work of Satan!” “Nonsense!” said Alan roughly. “You have been roasting the wrong ore. I could have told you it was not true gold. Be quiet, or we shall be driven out of Goslar.” Simon was too distracted to heed, and Alan went hastily up to the rooms, where he found some copper pyrites in process of oxidation, giving forth volumes of strangling sulphur smoke. After quenching the fire and doing what he could to purify the air he gathered his belongings together and left the house, extremely annoyed. He could see suspicion and even threatening in the look of the crowd. He went into the alley where Martin Bouvin's little inn was and asked shelter for the night. “I go away to-morrow,” he said, “and there is no returning to that place for hours to come.” “H'm!” said the inn-keeper. “What really happened?” Alan explained. “My faith,” commented Bouvin, decanting some wine into his guest's cup, “you are well rid of that fellow. Do you know that he has been spying on you for a week? He dared not follow you, but he tried to hire some one else to do it--that I know.” 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!”