We were still under the surveillance of a foreign police, to whom our honour was pledged, and we might at any time be dragged off to be confronted with the robbers. Even after the expiration of the month we had that to fear, unless we quitted our present abode, and lived somewhere else for the future under assumed names. But this change was difficult of itself, not to speak of what might happen in the event of the strange history, in which we were concerned, being again brought forward, and our incognito discovered; our attempted concealment would certainly bring us into suspicion. Still less was Wagen’s consolation, that the police officer, from particular good-will to himself, would scarcely expose us to such a humiliation. The poor man might be compelled, quite contrary to his inclination, to submit us to a trial from our apparent connexion with this robber-history.
A year passed over, during which this subject had often come upon the carpet, as indeed was natural enough.
“I have spoken with a strange mask at a
