“And think of the business they were on,” broke in Dirk grimly, adding, “May God forgive me who cannot feel grieved to hear of the death of Spanish cut-throats. It was well managed, Foy, excellently well managed. But go on.”
“I think that is about all,” said Foy shortly, “except that two of the Spaniards got away in a boat, one of whom is believed to be the head spy and captain, Ramiro.”
“But, son, up in Adrian’s chamber just now you said something about having made a map of the hiding-place of the gold. Where is it, for it should be put in safety?”
“Yes, I know I did,” answered Foy, “but didn’t I tell you?” he went on awkwardly. “Martin managed to drop the thing in the cabin of the Swallow while we were lighting the fuses, so it was blown up with the ship, and there is now no record of where the stuff was buried.”
“Come, come, son,” said Dirk. “Martha, who knows every island on the great lake, must remember the spot.”
“Oh! no, she doesn’t,” answered Foy. “The truth is that she didn’t come with us when we buried the barrels. She stopped to watch the Spanish ship, and just told us to land on the first island we came to and dig a hole, which we did, making a map of the place before we left, the same that Martin dropped.”
All this clumsy falsehood Foy uttered with a wooden face and in a voice which would not have convinced a three-year-old infant, priding himself the while upon his extraordinary cleverness.
“Martin,” asked Dirk, suspiciously, “is this true?”
“Absolutely true, master,” replied Martin; “it is wonderful how well he remembers.”
“Son,” said Dirk, turning white with suppressed anger, “you have always been a good lad, and now you have shown yourself a brave one, but I pray God that I may not be forced to add that you are false-tongued. Do you not see that this looks black? The treasure which you have hidden is the greatest in all the Netherlands. Will not folk say, it is not wonderful that you should have forgotten its secret until—it suits you to remember?”