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

turned unceremoniously on his heel and left Stoutenburg standing in the middle of the room, the latter hesitated for a few minutes longer. Angry and contemptuous words were all ready to his lips, but Diogenes was paying no heed to him; he had drawn the girl with him to the bedside of the cripple, and there began talking quietly in whispers to her. Stoutenburg saw that he gave the wench some money.

Smothering a final, comprehensive oath the noble lord went quietly out of the room.

“How that man doth hate thee,” whispered the girl in awestruck tones, as soon as she saw that the door had closed behind him. “And I hate him, too,” she added, as she clenched her thin hands, “he is cruel, coarse and evil.”

“Cruel, coarse and evil?” said Diogenes with a shrug of his wide shoulders, “and yet there is a delicate, innocent girl who loves him well enough to forget all his crimes and to plight her troth to him. Women are strange creatures, wench⁠—’tis a wise philosopher who steers widely clear of their path.”

XXV An Arrant Knave

In the street below, not far from the house which he had just quitted, Stoutenburg came on Nicolaes and Jan ensconced in the dark against a wall. Beresteyn quickly explained to his friend the reason of his presence here.

“I came with Jan,” he said, “because I wished to speak with you without delay.”

“Come as far as the cathedral then,” said Stoutenburg curtly. “I feel that in this vervloekte street the walls and windows are full of ears and prying eyes. Jan,” he added, turning to the other man, “you must remain here and on no account lose sight of that rascal when he leaves this house. Follow him in and out of Haarlem, and if you do not see me again tonight, join me at Ryswyk as soon as you can, and come there prepared with full knowledge of his plans.”

Leaving Jan in observation the two men made their way now in the direction of the Groote Markt. It was still very cold, even though there was a slight suspicion in the air of a coming change in the weather: a scent as of the south wind blowing from over the estuaries, while the snow beneath the feet had lost something of its crispness and purity. The thaw had not yet set in, but it was coquetting with the frost, challenging it to a passage of arms, wherein either combatant might completely succumb.

As Stoutenburg had surmised the porch of the cathedral was lonely and deserted, even the beggars had all gone home for the night. A tiny lamp fixed into the panelling of the wall flickered dimly in the draught. Stoutenburg sat down on the wooden bench⁠—dark and polished with age, which ran alongside one of the walls, and with a brusque and febrile gesture drew his friend down beside him.

“Well?” he asked in that nervous, jerky way of his, “What is it?”

“Something that wilt horrify you, just as it did me,” replied Beresteyn, who spoke breathlessly as if under stress of grave excitement. “When I parted from you awhile ago, I did what you asked me to do. I posted Jan outside the door of the tapperij after I had pointed out our rogue to him through the glass door. Imagine my astonishment when I saw that at that moment our rascal was in close conversation with my father.”

“With your father?”

“With my father,” reiterated Beresteyn. “That fool, Hals, was with him, and there were another half dozen busybodies sitting round the table. Our man was evidently the centre of interest; I could not then hear what was said, but at one moment I saw that my father shook him cordially by the hand.”

“Vervloekte Keerl!” exclaimed Stoutenburg.

“I didn’t know at first what to do. I didn’t want to go into the tapperij and to show myself just then, but at all costs I wished to know what my father and that arrant rascal had to say to one another. So, bidding Jan on no account to lose sight of the man, I made my way round to the service door behind the bar, and there bribed one of the wenches to let me stand under the lintel and to remain on the watch. It was quite dark where I stood and I had a good view of the tapperij without fear of being seen, and as my father and that cursed adventurer were speaking loudly enough I could hear all that they said.”

“Well?” queried Stoutenburg impatiently.

“Well, my friend,” quoth Beresteyn with slow emphasis, “that vervloekte scoundrel was making a promise to my father to bring Gilda safely back to Haarlem, and my father was promising him a fortune as his reward.”

“I am not surprised,” remarked Stoutenburg calmly.

“But⁠ ⁠…”

“That man, my friend, is the most astute blackguard I have ever come across in the whole course of my life. His English blood I imagine hath made him into a thoroughgoing rogue. He has played you false⁠—always did mean to play you false if it suited his purpose! By God, Nicolaes! what fools we were to trust one of these foreign adventurers. They’ll do anything for money, and this man instead of being⁠—as we thought⁠—an exception to the rule, is a worse scoundrel than any of his compeers. He has simply taken Gilda a little way out of Haarlem, and then came back here to see what bargain he could strike with your father for her return.”

“Gilda is some way out of Haarlem,” rejoined Beresteyn thoughtfully. “Jan and I heard that knave talking to his friend Hals later on. Hals was asking him to sup and sleep at his house. But he declined the proffered bed, though he accepted the supper: ‘I have a journey before me this night,’ he said, ‘and must leave the city at moonrise.’ It seemed to me that he