"Somewhere near six I should say, my lord. I heard the tower-clock at Ryswyk strike five some time ago."
"How long is it before the dawn?"
"Two hours, my lord."
"Time to put up a gibbet, Jan? and to hang a man?"
"Plenty of time for that, my lord," replied Jan quietly.
"Then see to it, Jan, as speedily as you can. I feel that that man down below is our evil genius. While he lives Chance will be against us, of that I am as convinced as I am of the justice of our cause. If that man lives, Jan, the Stadtholder will escape us; I feel it in my bones: something must have told me this in the night—it is a premonition that comes from above."
"Then the man must not live, my lord," said Jan coldly.
"You recognize that too, Jan, do you not?" rejoined Stoutenburg eagerly. "I am compelled in this—I won't say against my will, but compelled by a higher, a supernatural power. You, too, believe in the supernatural, do you not, my faithful Jan?"
"I believe, my lord, first and foremost in the justice of our cause. I hate the Stadtholder and would see him dead. Nothing in the world must place that great aim of ours in jeopardy."
Stoutenburg drew a deep breath of satisfaction.