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proving the lover to be a heretic, but if unhappily this could not be proved because he was not, still he must figure in that capacity for this occasion only. (5) That meanwhile it would be well to cultivate the society of Mynheer van Goorl as much as possible, first because he was a person with whom, under the circumstances, he, Montalvo, would naturally wish to become intimate, and secondly, because he was quite certain to be an individual with cash to lend.

Now, these researches after heretics invariably cost money, for they involved the services of spies. Obviously, therefore, friend Dirk, the Dutch Flounder, was a man to provide the butter in which he was going to be fried. Why, if any Hollander had a spark of humour he would see the joke of it himself—and Montalvo ended his reflections as he had begun them, with a merry peal of laughter, after which he rose and ate a most excellent breakfast.

It was about half-past five o’clock that afternoon before the Captain and Acting-Commandant Montalvo returned from some duty to which he had been attending, for it may be explained that he was a zealous officer and a master of detail. As he entered his lodgings the soldier who acted as his servant, a man selected for silence and discretion, saluted and stood at attention.

“Is the woman here?” he asked.

“Excellency, she is here, though I had difficulty enough in persuading her to come, for I found her in bed and out of humour.”

“Peace to your difficulties. Where is she?”

“In the small inner room, Excellency.”

“Good, then see that no one disturbs us, and—stay, when she goes out follow her and note her movements till you trace her home.”

The man saluted, and Montalvo passed upstairs into the inner room, carefully shutting both doors behind him. The place was unlighted, but through the large stone-mullioned window the rays of the full moon poured brightly, and by them, seated in a straight-backed chair, Montalvo saw a draped form. There was something forbidding, something almost unnatural, in the aspect of this sombre form perched thus upon a chair in expectant silence. It reminded him—for he had a touch of inconvenient imagination—of an evil bird squatted upon the bough of a dead tree awaiting the dawn that it might go forth to devour some appointed prey.

“Is that you, Mother Meg?” he asked in tones from which most of the jocosity had vanished. “Quite like old times at The Hague—isn’t it?”

The moonlit figure turned its head, for he could see the light shine upon the whites of the eyes.

“Who else, Excellency,” said a voice hoarse and thick with rheum, a voice like the croak of a crow, “though it is little thanks to your Excellency. Those must be strong who can bathe in Rhine water through a hole in the ice and take no hurt.”

“Don’t scold, woman,” he answered, “I have no time for it. If you were ducked yesterday, it served you right for losing your cursed temper. Could you not see that I had my own game to play, and you were spoiling it? Must I be flouted before my men, and listen while you warn a lady with whom I wish to stand well against me?”

“You generally have a game to play, Excellency, but when it ends in my being first robbed and then nearly drowned beneath the ice—well, that is a game which Black Meg does not forget.”

“Hush, mother, you are not the only person with a memory. What was the reward? Twelve florins? Well, you shall have them, and five more; that’s good pay for a lick of cold water. Are you satisfied?”

“No, Excellency. I wanted the life, that heretic’s life. I wanted to baste her while she burned, or to tread her down while she was buried. I have a grudge against the woman because I know, yes, because I know,” she repeated fiercely, “that if I do not kill her she will try to kill me. Her husband and her young son were burnt, upon my evidence mostly, but this is the third time she has escaped me.”

“Patience, mother, patience, and I dare say that everything will come right in the end. You have bagged two of the family—Papa heretic and Young Hopeful. Really you should not grumble if the third takes a little hunting, or wonder that in the meanwhile you are not popular with Mama. Now, listen. You know the young woman whom it was necessary that I should humour yesterday. She is rich, is she not?”

“Yes, I know her, and I knew her father. He left her house, furniture, jewellery, and thirty thousand crowns, which are placed out at good interest. A nice fortune for a gallant who wants money, but it will be Dirk van Goorl’s, not yours.”

“Ah! that is just the point. Now what do you know about Dirk van Goorl?”

“A respectable, hard-working burgher, son of well-to-do parents, brass-workers who live at Alkmaar. Honest, but not very clever; the kind of man who grows rich, becomes a Burgomaster, founds a hospital for the poor, and has a fine monument put up to his memory.”

“Mother, the cold water has dulled your wits. When I ask you about a man I want to learn what you know against him.”

“Naturally, Excellency, naturally, but against this one I can tell you nothing. He has no lovers, he does not gamble, he does not drink except a glass after dinner. He works in his factory all day, goes to bed early, rises early, and calls on the Jufvrouw van Hout on Sundays; that is all.”

“Where does he attend Mass?”

“At the Groote Kerke once a week, but he does not take the Sacrament or go to confession.”

“That sounds bad, mother, very bad. You don’t mean to say that he is a heretic?”

“Probably he is, Excellency; most of them are about here.”

“Dear me, how very shocking. Do you know, I should not like that excellent young woman, a good Catholic too, like you and me, mother, to become mixed up with one of these dreadful heretics, who might expose her to all sorts of dangers. For, mother, who can touch pitch and not be defiled?”

“You waste time, Excellency,” replied his visitor with a snort. “What do you want?”

“Well, in the interests of this young lady, I want to prove that this man is a heretic, and it has struck me that—as one accustomed to this sort of thing—you might be able to find the evidence.”

“Indeed, Excellency, and has it struck you what my face would look like after I had thrust my head into a wasp’s nest for your amusement? Do you know what it means to me if I go peering about among the heretics of Leyden? Well, I will tell you; it means that I should be killed. They are a strong lot, and a determined lot, and so long as you leave them alone they will leave you alone, but if you interfere with them, why then it is good night. Oh! yes, I know all about the law and the priests and the edicts and the Emperor. But the Emperor cannot burn a whole people, and though I hate them, I tell you,” she added, standing up suddenly and speaking in a fierce, convinced voice, “that in the end the law and the edicts and the priests will get the worst of this fight. Yes, these Hollanders will beat them all and cut the throats of you Spaniards, and thrust those of you who are left alive out of their country, and spit upon your memories and worship God in their own fashion, and be proud and free, when you are dogs gnawing the bones of your greatness; dogs kicked back into your kennels to rot there. Those are not my own words,” said Meg in a changed voice as she sat down again. “They are the words of that devil, Martha the Mare, which she spoke in my hearing when we had her on the rack, but somehow I think that they will come true, and that is why I always remember them.”

“Indeed, her ladyship the Mare is a more interesting person than I thought, though if she can talk like that, perhaps, after all, it would have been as well to drown her. And now, dropping prophecy and leaving posterity to arrange for itself, let us come to business. How much? For evidence which would suffice to procure his conviction, mind.”

“Five hundred florins, not a stiver less, so, Excellency, you need not waste your time trying to beat me down. You want good evidence, evidence on which the Council, or whoever they may appoint, will convict, and that means the unshaken testimony of two witnesses. Well, I tell you, it isn’t easy to come by; there is great danger to the honest folk who seek it, for these heretics are desperate people, and if they find a spy while they are engaged in devil-worship at one of their conventicles, why—they kill him.”

“I know all that, mother. What are you trying to cover up that you are so talkative? It isn’t your usual way of doing business. Well, it is a bargain—you shall have your money when you produce the evidence. And now really if we stop here much longer people will begin to make remarks, for who shall escape aspersion in this censorious world? So good-night, mother, good-night,” and he turned to leave the room.

“No, Excellency,” she croaked with a snort of indignation, “no pay, no play; I don’t work on the faith of your Excellency’s word alone.”

“How much?” he asked again.

“A hundred florins down.”

Then for a while they wrangled hideously, their heads held close together in the patch of moonlight, and so loathsome did their faces look, so plainly was the wicked purpose of their hearts written upon them, that in that faint luminous glow they might have been mistaken for emissaries from the under-world chaffering over the price of a human soul. At last the bargain was struck for fifty florins, and having received it into her hand Black Meg departed.

“Sixty-seven in all,” she muttered to herself as she regained the street. “Well, it was no use holding out for any more, for he hasn’t got the cash. The man’s as poor as Lazarus, but he wants to live like Dives, and, what is more, he gambles, as I learned at The Hague. Also, there’s something queer about his past; I have heard as much as that. It must be looked into, and perhaps the bundle of papers which I helped myself to out of his desk while I was waiting”—and she touched the bosom of her dress to make sure that they were safe—“may tell me a thing or two, though likely enough they are only unpaid bills. Ah! most noble cheat and captain, before you have done with her you may find that Black Meg knows how to pay back hot water for cold!”

CHAPTER V
THE DREAM OF DIRK

On the day following Montalvo’s interview with Black Meg Dirk received a message from that gentleman, sent to his lodging by an orderly, which reminded him that he had promised to dine with him this very night. Now he had no recollection of any such engagement. Remembering with shame, however, that there were various incidents of the evening of the supper whereof his memory was most imperfect, he concluded that this must be one of them. So much against his own wishes Dirk sent back an answer to say that he would appear at the time and place appointed.

This was the third thing that had happened to annoy him that day. First he had met Pieter van de Werff, who informed him that all Leyden was talking about Lysbeth and the Captain Montalvo, to whom she was said to have taken a great fancy. Next when he went to call at the house in the Bree Straat he was told that both Lysbeth and his cousin Clara had gone out sleighing, which he did not believe, for as a thaw had set in the snow was no longer in a condition suitable to that amusement. Moreover, he could almost have sworn that, as he crossed the street, he caught sight of Cousin Clara’s red face peeping at him from between the curtains of the upstairs sitting-room. Indeed he said as much to Greta, who, contrary to custom, had opened the door to him.

“I am sorry if Mynheer sees visions,” answered that young woman imperturbably. “I told Mynheer that the ladies had gone out sleighing.”

“I know you did, Greta; but why should they go out sleighing in a wet thaw?”

“I don’t know, Mynheer. Ladies do those things that please them. It is not my place to ask their reasons.”

Dirk looked

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