"This priest, who has no official standing in the city, has chosen to suspect me, yet he is welcome to make his search. But prevent him from doing such wanton damage to my goods, or I will sue the Senate for the charges." Cochlaeus swung round and stared in amazement at the printer, but he caught the glint in his eyes, and saw that Byrckmann, far from being afraid, was almost defiant. He went about his work more carefully, and did no more preventible damage. Nothing was found; nor in the inner shop, where special work was done. But what of that? Margaret's mind was on the cellar, where the real danger lay. She watched anxiously, lest any stray piece of paper might betray her father, but she wondered whether, with all his sharpness, Cochlaeus would think of the cellar. "Master Byrckmann," cried Cochlaeus peremptorily, "remove the bundles from this side of the room, so that we may see the floor beneath." "Nay; I do not make the search," came the sturdy answer. "'Tis not for me to give a hand in what you think will be my undoing." The tone was decisive. The Dean looked askance at the printer, and muttered to himself that Byrckmann did not bear himself like a man who had anything to fear. He turned to the soldiers, and bade them remove the bales to the other side of the room. They responded sulkily, for this was not their work. As the last bale was dropped on top of the others, Cochlaeus stamped over the cleared space. "Ha! This is hollow!" Bending low, he scanned every part of the floor, and at last he went on his knees to feel about for any sign of an opening. "Byrckmann, come and raise the floor!" he cried. "Nay, 'tis your business, not mine," was the quiet retort. "'Tis your search, as I told you just now; not mine. You can lift it as readily as I." The Dean looked round again and, ignoring the Captain of the Guard, who yielded to his superior, he nodded to a soldier. The man came forward and, looking carefully, thrust in the point of his sword at the spot where the floor seemed to be moveable, and, lifting it, threw it back with a noisy clatter and a prodigious dust. "Now we shall see!" cried Cochlaeus triumphantly, and he hurried down the steps. The Deacon of the Church of the Blessed Virgin had discarded his dignity in his eagerness. Every pulse in Margaret throbbed wildly. She felt like falling in a fainting heap, but she controlled herself, and watched, to mark the fatal ending of this quest. Yet she marvelled to mark her father's ease. As the last soldier moved down, and his head went out of sight, she was more amazed than ever to see him rub his hands, and his face broaden into a smile. She wondered whether he had suddenly gone mad with the strain of the last few days, and therefore he did not realise his danger.