There were few abroad, and those were going their ways without looking behind them.

A better time for a secret rendezvous could not be, and Messer Basterga's heart leapt up and his spirits rose as he followed the cloaked figure.

At the end of the bridge the man turned leftwards on to a deserted wharf between two mills; Basterga followed.

Near the water's edge the projecting upper floor of a granary promised shelter from the rain; under this the stranger halted, and turning, lowered with a brusque gesture his cloak from his face.

Alas, the eager "Why, Messer Blondel----" that leapt to Basterga's lips died on them.