I slid noiselessly out into the courtyard and the street, which was fickly illuminated by a young horned moon. Poyning I couldn't see; but the attendant was just ahead of me, advancing furtively and taking advantage of the shadow of every building he passed. To move silently in the sandals worn in the valley was easy enough; moreover, there were still a few belated foot-passengers abroad--it was only about eleven o'clock, but the city folk were for the most part early bedgoers and early risers--and I don't think the watcher suspected he was being himself watched. After some while, however, the chase brought me to a quarter of the city entirely deserted, and I had to let him get farther and farther ahead. I noticed, too, that the moon was now in front of me instead of behind, as at starting; our course had swept round in a half-circle. He disappeared under a dark portico and was entirely lost to my view for about two minutes. I edged nearer, keeping as much as possible in under walls and trees of the roadside. At last, some thirty yards ahead, a figure emerged and peered in every direction as if to satisfy himself he was not observed. A wall here ruled off the broad street into a sort of blind square. I saw the figure draw in under that wall, set his foot, apparently, on a plinth about three feet from the ground, then swing himself to the top and disappear over the other side. I may say, however, that I can be none too sure of his movements, for the moonlight was treacherous, and the effect of the man's white garments against the all-prevailing marble of the city was such that I had often to strain my eyes to keep him in view at all. I crept up to the wall and listened, but could hear no sound. Now it seemed I must take a bold step or lose my quarry altogether. I found the plinth, rested my foot on it, and threw myself up. The wall, I found, was surmounted by a feather-edged coping so broad and gently sloped that it might have been the glacis of a fortification rather than the sept of a courtyard. As a point to spy from it was ideal. I lay quite still, peeping over the inner edge. At some way off rose the mass of a block of buildings, glistening white and majestic in the silvery light, but nearer to where I lay was a small pavilion with domed roof supported by fluted pillars. Out of the shadow of this structure suddenly emerged a figure, but I was now so near that I saw immediately by his height it wasn't our tall attendant. An instant later I had recognised the man as Stephen Poyning. Of the attendant I could see no vestige either in the courtyard inside the wall or the street without.