By Pike and Dyke: a Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic

by G. A. Henty

"And shall I be at liberty to depart?" Ned asked doubtfully.

"Of course you will," Von Aert replied; "we should then have no further occasion for you, and you would have proved to us that your story was a true one, and that you were really in ignorance that there was any harm in carrying the packet hither."

Ned was perfectly well aware that the councillor was lying, and that even had he met the man in the blue cap he would be dragged back to prison and put to death, and that the promise meant absolutely nothing--the Spaniards having no hesitation in breaking the most solemn oaths made to heretics. He had, indeed, only asked the question because he thought that to assent too willingly to the proposal might arouse suspicion. It was the very thing he had been hoping for, and which offered the sole prospect of escape from a death by torture, for it would at least give him the chance of a dash for freedom.

He had named an hour after sunset partly because it was the hour which would have been probably chosen by those who wished that the meeting should take place unobserved, but still more because his chances of escape would be vastly greater were the attempt made after dark. The three councillors sat for some time talking over the matter after Ned had been removed. The letters had all been read. They had been carefully written, so as to give no information if they should fall into the wrong hands, and none of them contained any allusion whatever to past letters or previous negotiations.

"It is clear," Von Aert said, "that this is a conspiracy, and that those to whom these letters are sent are deeply concerned in it, and yet these letters do not prove it. Suppose that we either seize this Blue Cap or get from the boy the names of those for whom the letters are intended, they could swear on the other hand that they knew nothing whatever about them, and had been falsely accused. No doubt many of these people are nobles and citizens of good position, and if it is merely their word against the word of a boy, and that wrung from him by torture, our case would not be a strong one."

"Our case is not always strong," one of the other councillors said; "but that does not often make much difference."

"It makes none with the lower class of the people," Von Aert agreed; "but when we have to deal with people who have influential friends it is always best to be able to prove a case completely. I think that if we get the names of those for whom the letters are meant we can utilize the boy again. We will send him to deliver the letters in person, as I believe he was intended to do. He may receive answers to take back to Holland; but even if he does not the fact that these people should have received such letters without at once denouncing the bearer and communicating the contents to us, will be quite sufficient proof of their guilt."

"In that case," one of the others remarked, "the boy must not be crippled with the torture."

"There will be no occasion for that," Von Aert said contemptuously. "A couple of turns with the thumbscrew will suffice to get out of a boy of that age everything he knows. Well, my friends, we will meet here tomorrow evening. I shall go round to the Market Square with Genet to see the result of this affair, in which I own I am deeply interested; not only because it is most important, but because it is due to the fact that I myself entertained a suspicion of the boy that the discovery of the plot has been made. I will take charge of these letters, which are for the time useless to us, but which are likely to bring ten men's heads to the block."

As Ned sat alone in his cell during the long hours of the following day he longed for the time to come when his fate was to be settled. He was determined that if it lay with him he would not be captured alive. He would mount to the top story of a house and throw himself out of a window, or snatch a dagger from one of his guards and stab himself, if he saw no mode of escape. A thousand times better to die so than to expire on a gibbet after suffering atrocious tortures, which would, he knew, wring from him the names of those for whom the letters were intended.