The Laughing Cavalier - Baroness Orczy (chapter books to read to 5 year olds .txt) 📗

when he saw that the artist finally put his brushes and palette on one side, and in an abstracted manner began to dust a couple of rickety chairs and then place them close to the stove.

“Oh!” interposed Diogenes airily, “the joy of being of service to so bountiful a patron will more than compensate Frans Hals for this interruption to his work. Am I not right, old friend?” he added with just a soupçon of seriousness in the mocking tones of his voice.

Hals murmured a few words under his breath which certainly seemed to satisfy Beresteyn for the latter made no further attempt at apology, and only watched with obvious impatience the artist’s slow progress out of the room.

As soon as the heavy oaken door had fallen-to behind the master of this house, Beresteyn turned with marked eagerness to Diogenes.

“Now, sir,” he said, “will you accord me your close attention for a moment. On my honour it will be to your advantage so to do.”

“And to your own, I take it, sir,” rejoined Diogenes, as he stepped down from the elevated platform and sat himself astride one of the rickety chairs facing his interlocutor who had remained standing. “To your own too, sir, else you had not spent half an hour in that vervloekte weather last night pacing an insalubrious street in order to find out where I lodged.”

Nicolaes bit his lip with vexation.

“You saw me?” he asked.

“I have eyes at the back of my head,” replied the young man. “I knew that you followed me in company with a friend all the way from the door of the Lame Cow and that you were not far off when I announced my intention of sleeping under the stars and asking my friend Frans Hals for some breakfast later on.”

Beresteyn had quickly recovered his equanimity.

“I have no cause to deny it,” he said.

“None,” assented Diogenes.

“Something, sir, in your manner and your speech last night aroused my interest. Surely you would not take offence at that.”

“Certainly not.”

“And hearing you speak, a certain instinct prompted me to try and not lose sight of you if I could by some means ascertain where you lodged. My friend and I did follow you: I own it, and we witnessed a little scene which I confess did you infinite credit.”

Diogenes merely bowed his head this time in acknowledgment.

“It showed, sir,” resumed Nicolaes after a slight pause, “that you are chivalrous to a fault, brave and kindly: and these are just the three qualities which I⁠—even like your illustrious namesake⁠—have oft sought for in vain.”

“Shall we add, also for the sake of truth, sir,” said Diogenes pleasantly, “that I am obviously penniless, presumably unscrupulous and certainly daring, and that these are just the three qualities which you⁠ ⁠… and your friend⁠ ⁠… most require at the present moment in the man whom you wish to pay for certain services.”

“You read my thoughts, sir.”

“Have I not said that I have eyes at the back of my head?”

And Nicolaes Beresteyn wondered if that second pair of eyes were as merry and mocking and withal as inscrutable as those that met his now.

“Well,” he said as if with suddenly conceived determination, “again I see no cause why I should deny it. Yes, sir, you have made a shrewd guess. I have need of your services, of your chivalry and of your valour and⁠ ⁠… well, yes,” he added after an instant’s hesitation, “of your daring and your paucity of scruples too. As for your penury, why, sir, if you like, its pangs need worry you no longer.”

“It all sounds very tempting, sir,” said Diogenes with his most winning smile, “suppose now that we put preliminaries aside and proceed more directly with our business.”

“As you will.”

Nicolaes Beresteyn now took the other chair and brought it close to his interlocutor. Then he sat down and sinking his voice to a whisper he began:

“I will be as brief and to the point as I can, sir. There are secrets as you know the knowledge of which is ofttimes dangerous. Such an one was spoken of in the cathedral last night after watch-night service by six men who hold their lives in their hands and are ready to sacrifice it for the good of their country and of their faith.”

“In other words,” interposed Diogenes with dry humour, “six men in the cathedral last night decided to murder someone for the good of this country and of their faith and for the complete satisfaction of the devil.”

“ ’Tis false!” cried Beresteyn involuntarily.

“Be not angered, sir, I was merely guessing⁠—and not guessing methinks very wide of the mark. I pray you proceed. You vastly interest me. We left then six men in the cathedral after watch-night service plotting for the welfare of Holland and the established Faith.”

“Their lives, sir,” resumed Beresteyn more calmly, “depend on the inviolability of their secret. You are good at guessing⁠—will you guess what would happen to those six men if their conversation last night had been overheard and their secret betrayed.”

“The scaffold,” said Diogenes laconically.

“And torture.”

“Of course. Holland always has taken the lead in civilization of late.”

“Torture and death, sir,” reiterated Beresteyn vehemently. “There are six men in this city today whose lives are at the mercy of one woman.”

“Oho! ’twas a woman then who surprised those six men in their endeavour to do good to Holland and to uphold the Faith.”

“Rightly spoken, sir! To do good to Holland and to uphold the Faith! those are the two motives which guide six ardent patriots in their present actions and cause them to risk their lives and more, that they may bring about the sublime end. A woman has surprised their secret, a woman pure and good as the stars but a woman for all that, weak in matters of sentiment and like to be swayed by a mistaken sense of what she would call her duty. A woman now, sir, holds the future happiness of Holland, the triumph of Faith and the lives