Every prop had been cut, every brace severed; he, the City of Rome, the Catholic Church, the very supernatural itself, seemed to hang now on one single thing--the Finger of God.

And if that failed--well, nothing would ever matter any more....
He was going now to one of two things--ignominy or death.

There was no third thing--unless, indeed, the conspirators were actually taken with their instruments upon them.

But that was impossible.

Either they would refrain, knowing that God's ministers would fall with them, and in that case there would be the ignominy of a detected fraud, of a miserable attempt to win credit.