He grinned to himself, and the grin turned to a laugh as he started down the hill. The grislier methods of the Inquisitorial process were well-known to him by reputation, and soon he might be testing them out for himself. There was absolutely no way to be sure. That thought pleased him greatly; after all, he told himself, there was nothing like a little danger to spice the boring business of living. By the time he reached the bottom of the hill, he was whistling loudly. * * * * * He stopped at the first house, a mud construction with a badly-carpentered wooden door and a single bare window that looked out on the street. It smelled, but Jonas went up to the door bravely and knocked. There was no answer. He went on whistling "_Fortuna plango vulnera_" under his breath, and after a time he knocked again. This time he heard movement inside the house, and nodded to himself in a satisfied fashion. But almost a minute passed before the head of an old woman showed itself at the window. She was really extraordinarily ugly, he thought. She wore a bonnet that did nothing whatever to enhance her doubtful, wrinkled charms, or to conceal them; and besides, it was dirty. "Nobody's here," she said in the voice of a very venomous toad. "Go away." Jonas smiled at her. It was an effort. "Madam--" he began politely. "Nobody's home," she repeated, drawing slightly back from the window. "You go away, now." "Ah," Jonas said pleasantly. "But you're home, aren't you?" The old woman frowned at him suspiciously. "Now," she said vaguely. "Well." "This _is_ your house?" he said. "The house where you live?" "Never saw you before," the old woman said. "That's right," Jonas said equably. "You come to turn me out?" she demanded. Her eyebrows--which were almost as big and black as her ancient mustache--came down over glittering little eyes. "I hold this house free and proper," she said in a determined roar, "and nobody can take it from me. It belongs to me, and to my children, and to their children, and to the children of those children--" The catalogue seemed likely to go on forever. "Exactly," Jonas said hastily. "Well, then," the old woman said, and started to draw back. Jonas gestured lazily with one hand. "Wait," he said. "I am not going to take your house away from you, madam. I am only here to ask you a question." "Question?" she said. "You come from Herr Knupf? I'm an old woman but I do no wrong, and there is no one can accuse me of heresy. I am in church every week, and more than once; I keep peace with my neighbors and there's none can say a mystery about me--" The woman, Jonas thought, was full to the eyebrows with words. Probably, he told himself, trying to be fair, she didn't have anyone to talk to, until a stranger came along. He sighed briefly. "I do not come from the Inquisitor," he said truthfully, "nor is my question one that should cause you alarm."