“Ay, at Sevenbergen.”
Now, this was what in modern days is called a draw. It was a guess, put boldly forth as fact, to elicit by the young man's answer whether he had been there lately or not.
The result of the artifice surprised the crafty one. Gerard started up in a strange state of nervous excitement.
“Burgomaster,” said he, with trembling voice, “I have not been at Sevenbergen these three years, and I know not the name of those you saw me with, nor where they dwelt; but, as my time is precious, though you value it not, give you good day.” And he darted out, with his eyes sparkling.
Ghysbrecht started up in huge ire; but he sank into his chair again.
“He fears me not. He knows something, if not all.”
Then he called hastily to his trusty servant, and almost dragged him to a window.
“See you yon man?” he cried. “Haste! follow him! But let him not see you. He is young, but old in craft. Keep him in sight all day. Let me know whither he goes, and what he does.”
It was night when the servant returned.
“Well? well?” cried Van Swieten eagerly.