In the particular business in which I was engaged such overweening prudence would be like to nullify my purpose, and further, destroy both Jack and myself. For beyond a description of Count Lukstein's person which I had from Julian some while ago, I knew nothing but what he had told me in the prison; and that knowledge was too scanty to serve as the foundation for even the flimsiest plan. The region, the Castle, the aggregate of servants, and their manner of life--it behoved me to have certain information on all these particulars were I to prearrange a mode of attack. As things were, I must needs lie in ambush for chance, and seize it with all speed when it passed our way. At Leyden I found Jack, very glum and melancholy, poring over a folio of Shakespeare. 'Twas the single author whom he favoured, and he read his works with perpetual interest and delight. "This is the book of deeds," he would say, smacking a fist upon the cover. "There is but one bad play in it, and that is the tragedy of _Hamlet_. The good Prince is too speculative a personage." "You reached Bristol in time?" he asked, springing up as I entered the room. "In time; but not a moment too soon," I replied, and sat mum. "Then Sir Julian Harnwood is safe?" "No! There was never a hope of that." The old smile, half amusement, half contempt, flashed upon his lips; the old envy looked out from his eyes. I, of course, had bungled where a man of vigour might have accomplished. "It was not for that end that he sent for me," I hastened to add, and then I stuck. I had determined to relate to Jack forthwith the story of my mission, and to engage his assistance, but the actual sight of him overturned my intentions. I felt tongue-tied; I dared not tell him lest my resolution should trickle away in the telling; for I read upon his face his poor estimation of my powers, and I dreaded the ridicule of his comments upon my unfitness for the task to which I had set my hand. I had sufficient doubts of my own upon that score. Indeed, since I had entered the room, they had buzzed about me importunate as a cloud of gnats; for Larke had never been sparing of his homilies upon my incapacity. I think every article I possessed, at one time or another, had been twisted into a text for them; and now they all came flocking back to me, as my eyes ranged over the familiar objects they had been based upon. They seemed, in truth, to saturate the very air. Hence, I confided to Larke no more than the fact of our journey into the Tyrol; its reason and purpose I kept secret to myself. And to this self-distrust, trivial matter though it was, I owed my subsequent misfortunes. It was the first link in the chain of disaster, and I forged it myself unwittingly. "Jack," said I, "you were ever fond of adventures. One lies at your door." "Of what kind?" he asked. "A journey into the Tyrol." "For what purpose?" "I cannot tell you. You must trust me if you come." He looked at me doubtfully.