The First Sir Percy - Baroness Orczy (fastest ebook reader .txt) 📗

psychologist. Indeed, psychology did not exist as a science in these days when men were over-busy with fighting, and had no time or desire to probe into the inner workings of one another’s soul.

On the other hand, here was a man, thus his lordship argued to himself, who might know something of the Stadtholder’s plans. He was wont, before he rolled so rapidly down the hill of manhood and repute, to be an inimate of Maurice of Nassau. He might, as lately as yesterday, have been initiated into the great soldier’s plans for repelling this sudden invasion of the land which he had thought secure. The Stadtholder, in truth, was not the man to abandon all efforts at resistance just because his original plans had failed. True, the attempt to rescue Arnheim and Nijmegen had ended in smoke. Marquet and De Keysere were, thanks to timely warning, being held up somewhere by the armies of Isembourg and De Berg. But Maurice of Nassau would not, of a certainty, thus lightly abandon all hopes of saving Gelderland. He must have formulated a project, and Stoutenburg, who was no fool, was far from underestimating the infinite brain power and resourcefulness of that peerless commander. Whether he had communicated that project to this besotted oaf was another matter.

Stoutenburg searched the blind man’s face with an intent glance that seemed to probe the innermost thoughts behind that fine, wide brow. For the moment, the face told him nothing. It was just vacant, the sightless eyes shone with delight, and the tankard raised to the lips effectually hid all expression around the mouth.

Well, there was not much harm done, the waste of a few moments, if the information proved futile. Jan was ready with the rope, if the whole thing proved to be a mere trick for putting off the fateful hour. As the Lord of Stoutenburg gazed on the blind man, trying vainly to curb his burning impatience, he instinctively thought of Gilda. Gilda, and his hopeless wooing of her, her coldness toward him and her passionate adherence to this miserable caitiff, who, in truth, had thrown dust in her eyes by an outward show of physical courage and a mock display of spurious chivalry.

What if the varlet had been initiated in the Stadtholder’s projects? What if he betrayed them now⁠—sold them in exchange for his own worthless life, and stood revealed, before all the world, as an abject coward, as base as any Judas who would sell his master for thirty pieces of silver? The thought turned the miscreant giddy, so dazzling did this issue appear before his mental vision. What a revelation for a fond and loyal woman, who had placed so worthless an object on a pinnacle of valour! What a disillusionment! She had staunchly believed in his integrity up to now. But after this?

In truth, what more can a man desire than to see the honour of a rival smirched in the eyes of a woman who spurns him? That was the main thought that coursed through Stoutenburg’s brain, driving before it all obstinacy and choler, ay, even soothing his exacerbated nerves.

He gave a sign to Jan.

“Bring that varlet here to me,” he commanded. “I’ll speak to him myself.”

The sound of his voice chased the look of beatitude from the blind man’s face, which took on an expression of bewildered surprise.

“I had no thought his lordship was here,” he said, with a self-conscious, inane laugh.

The men were murmuring audibly. Some of them had seen visions of good reward, shared amongst them all, after the blind man had been made to speak. But Jan paid no heed to their discontent. In a trice he had seen the blind man secure once more, with arms tied as before behind his back. Diogenes had uttered a loud cry of protest when the empty tankard was torn out of his hand.

“Jan,” he shouted, in a thick, hoarse voice, “if thou’rt a knave and dost not keep faith with me, the devil himself will run away with thee.”

“His Magnificence will hear what thou hast to say,” Jan retorted gruffly. “After that, we’ll see.”

He led the prisoner through into the banqueting-hall, and despite the men’s murmurings, he closed the door upon them. He sat the blind man down in a chair, opposite his lordship. The poor loon had begun to whimper softly, just like a child, and continued to appeal pitiably to Jan.

“If his lordship is satisfied,” he murmured confidingly, “you’ll see to it, Jan, that I do not hang.”

“Jan has his orders!” his lordship put in roughly. “But take heed, sirrah! If your information is worth having, you may go to hell your own way; I care nought! But remember,” he added, with slow and stern emphasis, “if you trick me in this, ’twil not be the rope for you at dawn⁠—but the stake!”

Diogenes gave a quick shudder.

“By the lord,” he said blandly, “how very unpleasant! But I am a man of my word. Jan put good wine into me. He shall be paid for it. And I’ll tell you what the Stadtholder hath planned for the defeat of the Lord of Stoutenburg.”

“Well,” his lordship retorted curtly. “I wait!”

There was silence for a moment whilst the blind man apparently collected his thoughts. He sat, trussed and helpless in the chair, with his head thrown back, and the full light of the candles playing upon his pale face⁠—the latter still vacant and with a childish expression of excitement about those weird, dark orbs. The Lord of Stoutenburg, master of the situation, sat in a high-backed chair opposite him, his chin resting in his hand, his eyes, glowering and fierce, searching that strange, mysterious face before him. Strange and mysterious, in truth, with those sightless eyes, that glittered uncannily whenever the flickering candlelight caught the abnormally dilated pupils, and those quavering lips which every moment broke into a whimsical and inane smile.

“Jan, my friend,” the blind man asked after a while, “art here?”

“Ay!” Jan replied