The Laughing Cavalier, Baroness Orczy [the beginning after the end read novel TXT] 📗

to run, skirting the palisade in the direction whence come now quite distinctly that ceaseless rattle, that jingle and stamping of the ground which proclaims the presence of horses on the point of departure.

“Jan, in Heaven’s name, follow me!” cries Stoutenburg, pausing one instant ere he rounds the corner of the palisade. “Nicolaes, leave that abominable knave! Gilda, I tell you! Gilda! They are carrying her away!”

Jan already has obeyed, grasping his sword he does not pause to think. My lord has called and ’tis my lord whom he follows. He runs after Stoutenburg as fast as his tired limbs will allow. Heemskerk, forgetting his own fears in the excitement of this hand-to-hand combat, follows in their wake.

Nicolaes, too, at Stoutenburg’s call, is ready to follow him.

He turns to run when a grasp of iron falls upon his arm, holding it like a vice. He could have screamed with the pain, and the sword which he held falls out of his nerveless fingers. The next moment he feels himself dragged by that same iron grasp through the open door into the hut, and hears the door slammed to and locked behind him.

“Your pardon if I have been rough, mynheer,” said Diogenes’ pleasant voice, “but there was no time to argue outside that door and you seemed in such a mighty hurry to run straight into that yawning abyss of disgrace.”

The grasp upon his arm had not relaxed, but it no longer hurt. Yet it was so firm and so absolute that Nicolaes felt powerless to wrench himself away.

“Let me go!” he cried hoarsely.

“Not just yet, mynheer,” rejoined Diogenes coolly, “not while this hot temper is upon you. Let the Lord of Stoutenburg and our friend Jan fight to their heart’s content with a fat philosopher who is well able to hold his own against them, while the other who is lean and a moderately good coachman sees that a pair of horses do not rear and bolt during the fray.”

“Let me go, man, I tell you,” cried Beresteyn who was making frantic efforts to free himself from that slender white grapnel which held his arm as in a vice.

“One moment longer, mynheer, and you shall go. The horses of which I speak are harnessed to a sledge wherein is the jongejuffrouw your sister.”

“Yes! verdommte Keerl! let me get to her or⁠ ⁠…”

“As soon as the fat philosopher has disposed of the Lord of Stoutenburg and of Jan he too will jump into the sledge and a minute later will be speeding on its way to Haarlem.”

“And there will be three of us left here to hang you to that same gallows on which you should have dangled an hour ago,” exclaimed Beresteyn savagely.

“Possibly,” retorted Diogenes dryly, “but even so your sister will be on the way to Haarlem rather than to exile⁠—whither the Lord of Stoutenburg and you⁠—her brother⁠—would drag her.”

“And what is it to you, you abominable plepshurk, whither I go with my sister and my friend?”

“Only this, mynheer, that yesterday in this very room I proclaimed myself a forger, a liar and a thief before the jongejuffrouw in order that her love for her only brother should not receive a mortal wound. At that moment I did not greatly care for that lie,” he added with his wonted flippancy, “but time hath lent it enchantment. It is on the whole one of the finest lies I ever told in my life; moreover it carried conviction; the jongejuffrouw was deceived. Now I will not see that pet lie of mine made fruitless by the abominable action which you have in contemplation.”

Beresteyn made no immediate reply. Easily swayed as he always was by a character stronger than his own, the words spoken by the man whom he had always affected to despise, could not fail to move him. He knew that that same abominable action of which he was being accused had indeed been contemplated not only by Stoutenburg but also by himself. It had only required one word from Stoutenburg⁠—“Gilda of course comes with us”⁠—one hint that her presence in Holland would be a perpetual menace to his personal safety, and he had been not only willing but fully prepared to put this final outrage upon the woman whom he should have protected with his life.

Therefore now he dared not meet the eager, questioning glance of this adventurer, in whose merry eyes the look of irrepressible laughter was momentarily veiled by one of anxiety. He looked around him restlessly, shiftily; his wandering glance fell on the narrow inner door which stood open, and he caught a glimpse of a smaller room beyond, with a window at the further end of it. That window had been broken in from without, the narrow frame torn out of its socket and the mullion wrenched out of its groove.

Through the wide breach thus made in the lath and mud walls of the hut, Beresteyn suddenly saw the horses and the sledge out there in the open. The fight of awhile ago by the front door had now been transferred to this spot. A short fat man with his back to the rear of the sledge was holding the Lord Stoutenburg and Heemskerk at a couple of arm’s lengths with the point of his sword. Jan was apparently not yet on the scene.

Another man, lean and tall, was on the box of the sledge, trying with all his might to hold a pair of horses in, who frightened by the clang of steel against steel, by the movement and the shouting, were threatening to plunge and rear at any moment.

Diogenes laughed aloud.

“My friend Pythagoras seems somewhat hard pressed,” he said, “and those horses might complicate the situation at any moment. I must to them now, mynheer. Tell me then quickly which you mean to do; behave like an honest man or like a cur?”

“What right