"'Tis a sight then," retorted the prisoner lightly, "which your Magnificence hath often provided for your friends and your adherents."
"Bah!" rejoined Stoutenburg, who was determined to curb his temper if he could, "your insolence now, my man, hath not the power to anger me. It strikes me as ludicrous—even pathetic in its senselessness. An I were in your unpleasant position, I would try by submission to earn a slight measure of leniency from my betters."
"No doubt you would, my lord," quoth Diogenes dryly, "but you see I have up to now not yet come across my betters. When I do, I may take your advice."
"Verdommte Keerl! What say you, Beresteyn," added Stoutenburg turning to his friend, "shall we leave him here to-night to cool his impudence, we can always hang him to-morrow."
Beresteyn made no immediate reply, his face was pale and haggard, and his glance—shifty and furtive—seemed to avoid that of the prisoner.
"You must see that the fellow is well guarded, Jan," resumed Stoutenburg curtly, "give him some food, but on no account allow him the slightest freedom."
"My letters to Ben Isaje," murmured Beresteyn, as Stoutenburg already turned to go. "Hath he perchance got them by him still?"
"The letters! yes! I have forgotten!" said the other. "Search him, Jan!" he commanded.
Jan put down the lanthorn and then proceeded to lay rough hands upon the captive philosopher; he had a heavy score to pay off against him—an aching collar-bone and a bruised head, and the weight of a powerful fist to avenge. He was not like to be gentle in his task. He tore at the prisoner's doublet and in his search for a hidden pocket he disclosed an ugly wound which had lacerated the shoulder.
"Some of us took off our skates," he remarked casually, "and brought him down with them. The blades were full sharp, and we swung them by their straps; they made excellent weapons thus; the fellow should have more than one wound about him."