The Laughing Cavalier by Baroness Orczy (best 7 inch ereader .TXT) 📕

hither and thither, so that it lit up fitfully the faces of those three men drawn closely together now in a bond of ambition and of hate.

“ ’Tis splendidly thought out,” said Beresteyn at last with a sigh of satisfaction. “I do not see how the plan can fail.”

“Fail?” exclaimed Stoutenburg with a triumphant laugh, “of course it cannot fail! There are practically no risks even. The place is lonely, the molens a splendid rallying point. We can all reach it by different routes and assemble there tomorrow eve or early the next day. That would give us another day and night at least to complete our preparations. I have forty barrels of gunpowder stowed away at the mill, I have new pattern muskets, cullivers, swords and pistols⁠ ⁠… gifts to me from the Archduchess Isabella⁠ ⁠… enough for our coup⁠ ⁠… Fail? How can we fail when everything has been planned, everything thought out? and when God has so clearly shown that He is on our side?”

Jan said nothing for the moment; he lowered his eyes not caring just then to encounter those of his leader, for the remembrance had suddenly flashed through his mind of that other day⁠—not so far distant yet⁠—when everything too had been planned, everything thought out and failure had brought about untold misery and a rich harvest for the scaffold.

Beresteyn too was silent now. Something of his friend’s enthusiasm was also coursing through his veins, but with him it was only the enthusiasm of ambition, of discontent, of a passion for intrigue, for plots and conspiracies, for tearing down one form of government in order to make room for another⁠—but his enthusiasm was not kept at fever-heat by that all-powerful fire of hate which made Stoutenburg forget everything save his desire for revenge.

The latter had pushed his chair impatiently aside and now was pacing up and down the narrow room like some caged feline creature waiting for its meal. Beresteyn’s silence seemed to irritate him for he threw from time to time quick, furtive glances on his friend.

“Nicolaes, why don’t you speak?” he said with sudden impatience.

“I was thinking of Gilda,” replied the other dully.

“Gilda? Why of her?”

“That knave has betrayed me I am sure. He has hidden her away somewhere, not meaning to stick to his bargain with me, and then has come back to Haarlem in order to see if he can extort a large ransom for her from my father.”

“Bah! He wouldn’t dare⁠ ⁠… !”

“Then why is he here?” exclaimed Beresteyn hotly. “Gilda should be in his charge! If he is here, where is Gilda?”

“Good God, man!” ejaculated Stoutenburg, pausing in his restless walk and looking somewhat dazed on his friend, as if he were just waking from some feverish sleep. “Good God! you do not think that⁠ ⁠…”

“That her life is in danger from that knave?” rejoined Beresteyn quietly. “Well, no! I do not think that.⁠ ⁠… I do not know what to think⁠ ⁠… but there is a hint of danger in that rascal’s presence here in Haarlem today.”

He rose and mechanically readjusted his cloak and looked round for his hat.

“What are you going to do?” asked Stoutenburg.

“Find the knave,” retorted the other, “and wring his neck if he does not give some satisfactory account of Gilda.”

“No! no! you must not do that⁠ ⁠… not in a public place at any rate⁠ ⁠… the rascal would betray you if you quarrelled with him⁠ ⁠… or worse still you would betray yourself. Think what it would mean to us now⁠—at this moment⁠—if it were known that you had a hand in the abduction of your sister⁠ ⁠… if she were traced and found! think what that would mean⁠—denunciation⁠—failure⁠—the scaffold for us all!”

“Must I leave her then at the mercy of a man who is proved to be both a liar and a cheat?”

“No! you shall not do that. Let me try and get speech with him. He does not know me; and I think that I could find out what double game he is playing and where our own danger lies. Let me try and find him.”

“How can you do that?”

“You remember the incident on New Year’s Eve, when you and I traced that cursed adventurer to his own doorstep?”

“Yes!”

“Then you remember the Spanish wench and the old cripple to whom our man relinquished his lodgings on that night.”

“Certainly I do.”

“Well! yesterday when the hour came for the rascal to seize Gilda, I could not rest in this room. I wanted to see, to know what was going on. Gilda means so much to me, that remorse I think played havoc with my prudence then and I went out into the Groote Markt to watch her come out of church. I followed her at a little distance and saw her walking rapidly along the bank of the Oude Gracht. She was accosted by a woman who spoke to her from out the depths of the narrow passage which leads to the disused chapel of St. Pieter. Gilda was quickly captured by the brute whom you had paid to do this monstrous deed, and I stood by like an abject coward, not raising a hand to save her from this cruel outrage.”

He paused a moment and passed his hand across his brow as if to chase away the bitter and insistent recollection of that crime of which he had been the chief instigator.

“Why do you tell me all that?” queried Beresteyn sombrely. “What I did, I did for you and for the triumph of your cause.”

“I know, I know,” replied Stoutenburg with a sigh, “may Heaven reward you for the sacrifice. But I merely acted for mine own selfish ends, for my ambition and my revenge. I love Gilda beyond all else on earth, yet I saw her sacrificed for me and did not raise a finger to save her.”

“It is too late for remorse,” retorted Beresteyn roughly, “if Gilda had been free to speak of what she heard in the cathedral on New Year’s Eve, you and I today would have had