Chapter 22

that, to my knowledge, the man is a bankrupt tailor of Antwerp? However, it is the substance we have to deal with, not the shadow, and that’s real enough, for his signature on a death warrant is as good as that of the Pope, or his gracious Majesty King Philip, or, for the matter of that, of Alva himself. Therefore, you are—dead men.”

“As you would have been had I not been fool enough to neglect Martin’s advice out in the Haarlemer Meer and let you escape,” answered Foy.

“Precisely, my young friend, but you see my guardian angel was too many for you, and you did neglect that excellent counsel. But, as it happens, it is just about the Haarlemer Meer that I want to have a word with you.”

Foy and Martin looked at each other, for now they understood exactly why they were there, and Ramiro, watching them out of the corners of his eyes, went on in a low voice:

“Let us drop this and come to business. You hid it, and you know where it is, and I am in need of a competence for my old age. Now, I am not a cruel man; I wish to put no one to pain or death; moreover, I tell you frankly, I admire both of you very much. The escape with the treasure on board of your boat _Swallow_, and the blowing up, were both exceedingly well managed, with but one mistake which you, young sir, have pointed out,” and he bowed and smiled. “The fight that you made yesterday, too, was splendid, and I have entered the details of it in my own private diary, because they ought not to be forgotten.”

Now it was Foy’s turn to bow, while even on Martin’s grim and impassive countenance flickered a faint smile.

“Naturally,” went on Ramiro, “I wish to save such men, I wish you to go hence quite free and unharmed,” and he paused.

“How can we after we have been condemned to death?” asked Foy.

“Well, it does not seem so difficult. My friend, the tailor—I mean the Inquisitor—who, for all his soft words, _is_ a cruel man indeed, was in a hurry to be gone, and—he signed a blank warrant, always an incautious thing to do. Well, a judge can acquit as well as condemn, and this one—is no exception. What is there to prevent me filling this paper in with an order for your release?”

“And what is there to show us that you would release us after all?” asked Foy.

“Upon the honour of a gentleman,” answered Ramiro laying his hand on his heart. “Tell me what I want to know, give me a week to make certain necessary arrangements, and so soon as I am back you shall both of you be freed.”

“Doubtless,” said Foy, angrily, “upon such honour as gentlemen learn in the galleys, Señor Ramiro—I beg your pardon, Count Juan de Montalvo.”

Ramiro’s face grew crimson to the hair.

“Sir,” he said, “were I a different sort of man, for those words you should die in a fashion from which even the boldest might shrink. But you are young and inexperienced, so I will overlook them. Now this bargaining must come to a head. Which will you have, life and safety, or the chance—which under the circumstances is no chance at all—that one day, not you, of course, but somebody interested in it, may recover a hoard of money and jewels?”

Then Martin spoke for the first time, very slowly and respectfully.

“Worshipful sir,” he said, “we cannot tell you where the money is because we do not know. To be frank with you, nobody ever knew except myself. I took the stuff and sank it in the water in a narrow channel between two islands, and I made a little drawing of them on a piece of paper.”

“Exactly, my good friend, and where is that piece of paper?”

“Alas! sir, when I was lighting the fuses on board the _Swallow_, I let it fall in my haste, and it is—in exactly the same place as are all your worship’s worthy comrades who were on board that ship. I believe, however, that if you will put yourself under my guidance I could show your Excellency the spot, and this, as I do not want to be killed, I should be most happy to do.”

“Good, simple man,” said Ramiro with a little laugh, “how charming is the prospect that you paint of a midnight row with you upon those lonely waters; the tarantula and the butterfly arm in arm! Mynheer van Goorl, what have you to say?”

“Only that the story told by Martin here is true. I do not know where the money is, as I was not present at its sinking, and the paper has been lost.”

“Indeed? I am afraid, then, that it will be necessary for me to refresh your memory, but, first, I have one more argument, or rather two. Has it struck you that another life may hang upon your answer? As a rule men are loth to send their fathers to death.”

Foy heard, and terrible as was the hint, yet it came to him as a relief, for he had feared lest he was about to say “your mother” or “Elsa Brant.”

“That is my first argument, a good one, I think, but I have—another which may appeal even more forcibly to a young man and prospective heir. The day before yesterday you became engaged to Elsa Brant—don’t look surprised; people in my position have long ears, and you needn’t be frightened, the young lady will not be brought here; she is too valuable.”

“Be so good as to speak plainly,” said Foy.

“With pleasure. You see this girl is the heiress, is she not? and whether or no I find out the facts from you, sooner or later, in this way or that, she will doubtless discover where her heritage is hidden. Well, that fortune a husband would have the advantage of sharing. I myself labour at present under no matrimonial engagements, and am in a position to obtain an introduction—ah! my friend, are you beginning to see that there are more ways of killing a dog than by hanging him?”

Weak and wounded as he was, Foy’s heart sank in him at the words of this man, this devil who had betrayed his mother with a mock marriage, and who was the father of Adrian. The idea of making the heiress his wife was one worthy of his evil ingenuity, and why should he not put it into practice? Elsa, of course, would rebel, but Alva’s officials in such days had means of overcoming any maidenly reluctance, or at least of forcing women to choose between death and degradation. Was it not common for them even to dissolve marriages in order to give heretics to new husbands who desired their wealth? There was no justice left in the land; human beings were the chattels and slaves of their oppressors. Oh God! what was there to do, except to trust in God? Why should they be tortured, murdered, married against their wills, for the sake of a miserable pile of pelf? Why not tell the truth and let the fellow take the money? He had measured up his man, and believed that he could drive a bargain with him. Ramiro wanted money, not lives. He was no fanatic; horrors gave him no pleasure; he cared nothing about his victims’ souls. As he had betrayed his mother, Lysbeth, for cash, so he would be willing to let them all go for cash. Why not make the exchange?

Then distinct, formidable, overwhelming, the answer rose up in Foy’s mind. Because he had sworn to his father that nothing which could be imagined should induce him to reveal this secret and betray this trust. And not only to his father, to Hendrik Brant also, who already had given his own life to keep his treasure out of the hands of the Spaniards, believing that in some unforeseen way it would advantage his own land and countrymen. No, great as was the temptation, he must keep the letter of his bond and pay its dreadful price. So again Foy answered,

“It is useless to try to bribe me, for I do not know where the money is.”

“Very well, Heer Foy van Goorl, now we have a plain issue before us, but I will still try to protect you against yourself—the warrant shall remain blank for a little while.”

Then he called aloud, “Sergeant, ask the Professor Baptiste to be so good as to step this way.”