"I know so," said Pietro. "The Grand Judge, as the child's story-book says of ogres, loves fresh meat, and would see a spot on the brow of an angel. Now, I am not exactly an angel--and if he saw a spot, your excellency's head might be safe, but for want of a chicken he might twist my neck. The jailer would be the victim, and my friend the executioner would have to do with me. I know him. He would be enthusiastic in the operation, to make a vacancy in my place. He is bound up in his family." For an instant the Count had not heard the jailer. One single name inspired him with the greatest terror, for it recalled one of the participators in his escape. This man held in his own hands his own and his accomplice's escape. Pietro had not foreseen all. This assistant, the character and dress of whom he had assumed, this Crespo, this mole, would be summoned before the magistrate. The keeper had seen and spoken to him, had opened the gate of the castle to suffer him to pass out, or at least fancied he had. What then would the man say? With great emotion, then, Monte-Leone said, "The danger does not come from the place you apprehend. One witness, however, may ruin all." "Of whom do you speak?" said Pietro, trembling. "Of Crespo," said the Count. "Ah--what have you to fear of Crespo?" "Have you gained him over?" "No. I was spared the trouble. At this moment the poor fellow is probably in the other world." "Have you killed him?" said the Count, with terror. "For what does your excellency take me? One may yield to the prayers of a prisoner, and secure a fortune by permitting him a few hours' exercise, yet be no murderer. If Crespo dies, it is in consequence of his unfortunate passion." "Was he in love?" "No. He was fond of water-rats." "Horrible appetite." "Not at all," said the jailer. "Crespo says the animal is very savory, especially when fat as those in the ditches of the castle are. The waters bear hither all the offal of Naples, and the rats live like canons." "And Crespo eats them?" "He has a passion for game of that kind, and does nothing but hunt them. He makes some very ingenious traps to catch them with. I do not molest him, because the taste is so innocent, and besides, saves me the expense of several cats." "But how came that passion to endanger Crespo's life?" "Ah--one is not always lucky. Perhaps the last rats Crespo ate, had feasted on arsenic--rats are so whimsical. The poor devil, perhaps, was poisoned in that manner. Rather an expensive taste. Unfortunately, the lesson will do him no good." After this touching funeral oration, the jailer took out a blue and torn handkerchief, and dried his eyes. The Count shuddered at this story. He understood the atrocious plan adopted by Pietro to get rid of a dangerous witness, and forgetful of his own safety, said, "Perhaps, if you hurry for a physician, the poor man may yet be saved."