“Dear lady, don’t be over anxious; there is nothing so wearing as anxiety. I was coming to the matter.” Then, with a sudden change of manner, he added, “It is needful, Lysbeth, that I should set out the situation.”
“What situation do you mean?”
“Well, principally that of the treasure.”
“What treasure?”
“Oh! woman, do not waste time in trying to fool me. The treasure, the vast, the incalculable treasure of Hendrik Brant which Foy van Goorl and Martin, who have escaped”—and he ground his teeth together at the anguish of the thought—“disposed of somewhere in the Haarlemer Meer.”
“Well, what about this treasure?”
“I want it, that is all.”
“Then you had best go to seek it.”
“That is my intention, and I shall begin the search—in the heart of Dirk van Goorl,” he added, slowly crushing the handkerchief he held with his long fingers as though it were a living thing that could be choked to death.
Lysbeth never stirred, she had expected this.