THE next five weeks were spent by Gemma and the Gadfly in a whirl of excitement and overwork which left them little time or energy for thinking about their personal affairs. When the arms had been safely smuggled into Papal territory there remained a still more difficult and dangerous task: that of conveying them unobserved from the secret stores in the mountain caverns and ravines to the various local centres and thence to the separate villages. The whole district was swarming with spies; and Domenichino, to whom the Gadfly had intrusted the ammunition, sent into Florence a messenger with an urgent appeal for either help or extra time. The Gadfly had insisted that the work should be finished by the middle of June; and what with the difficulty of conveying heavy transports over bad roads, and the endless hindrances and delays caused by the necessity of continually evading observation, Domenichino was growing desperate. “I am between Scylla and Charybdis,” he wrote. “I dare not work quickly, for fear of detection, and I must not work slowly if we are to be ready in time. Either send me efficient help at once, or let the Venetians know that we shall not be ready till the first week in July.” The Gadfly carried the letter to Gemma and, while she read it, sat frowning at the floor and stroking the cat's fur the wrong way. “This is bad,” she said. “We can hardly keep the Venetians waiting for three weeks.” “Of course we can't; the thing is absurd. Domenichino m-might unders-s-stand that. We must follow the lead of the Venetians, not they ours.” “I don't see that Domenichino is to blame; he has evidently done his best, and he can't do impossibilities.” “It's not in Domenichino that the fault lies; it's in the fact of his being one person instead of two. We ought to have at least one responsible man to guard the store and another to see the transports off. He is quite right; he must have efficient help.” “But what help are we going to give him? We have no one in Florence to send.” “Then I m-must go myself.” She leaned back in her chair and looked at him with a little frown. “No, that won't do; it's too risky.” “It will have to do if we can't f-f-find any other way out of the difficulty.” “Then we must find another way, that's all. It's out of the question for you to go again just now.” An obstinate line appeared at the corners of his under lip. “I d-don't see that it's out of the question.” “You will see if you think about the thing calmly for a minute. It is only five weeks since you got back; the police are on the scent about that pilgrim business, and scouring the country to find a clue. Yes, I know you are clever at disguises; but remember what a lot of people saw you, both as Diego and as the countryman; and you can't disguise your lameness or the scar on your face.” “There are p-plenty of lame people in the world.”