The man bowed without speaking. Not much of a search was needed, however. We had come in upon him so suddenly that he had had no time for concealment. A packet of papers lay in full view on the table.
A brief examination of them told the whole story. The fear in the city of a French invasion proved to be no idle fear; but the invasion was not to come from the north. That was the mistake and was due to the false rumors set afloat by the patroon. There was a French fleet a short way down the coast waiting a chance to pounce upon the city unawares. They had been in correspondence with the patroon for some time. His ships in the harbor were to co-operate with the French and his men were to surrender the fort. In return for this the old powers of the patroons were to be restored, and Van Volkenberg made governor of the province.
It was a fanciful plan, and, I must confess, within an ace of succeeding. But they had not reckoned against chance. The odd trick had fallen to our lot. A week later, all was lost to them; for now we held the high cards in our own hands.
“It is time we were going,” said the Earl, when we were done with the papers. The tone of his voice and the brevity of his speech showed how much he was affected by the narrow escape we had had. “Bring that man with us.” Then he turned to the prisoner. “Have no fear for your life, Father Jacques. It is small love I have for you, or sympathy for your attempt to spoil my government. But I can use you better than to weight a rope. You shall back to this French fleet of yours and tell them that the English governor is ready for them; but not till I have seen Van Volkenberg. Bind him, Le Bourse; we must to the fort in haste.”
We had gone down stairs and were in the tavern doorway when who should ride up but the man of all men we wanted most at that moment—Van Volkenberg. He saw us standing there with the priest a prisoner. He took in the situation at a glance. He shook his fist at me and spat in the governor’s face.
“Zounds! Dogs!” he cried. “You think you have me. But the fort is mine. Do you take me there!”
He clapped spurs to his horse and was off like an arrow.
“After him, Le Bourse,” cried the Earl. “You have the best horse. Stop him alive or dead.”
The patroon had the start of me by five hundred yards. Our horses were an even match for swiftness, but the patroon rode lighter in body. For all that, he gained like a snail. He thundered across the Kissing Bridge. Before the echo of his steps died away the bridge was rocking beneath me. The city gate stood open. A guard challenged, but he sprang back to avoid a wide sweep of the patroon’s sword. It was straight away now along Broadway to the fort. I could hear him shouting at the top of his voice as he drew near:
“What ho; Van Volkenberg! Men of the Red Band! Open the gate. Van Volkenberg, Van Volkenberg, Van Volkenberg!”