I thanked him in English, giving him another silver piece. Then off I went, tottering on my toes with the strangeness of walking after so long a ride. I was not out of the wood yet, by a long way. At every second, as I hurried on, I expected to hear cries of my pursuers, as they charged down the narrow street after me. I tried to run, but my legs felt so funny, it was like running in a dream. I just felt that I was walking on pillows, instead of legs. Luckily that little narrow street was only fifty yards long. It was with a great gasp of relief that I got to the end of it. When I could turn to my right out of sight of the square I felt that I was saved. I had been but a minute ahead of the pursuers outside on the open. Directly after my entrance, some cart or waggon went out of the town, filling the narrow gateway full, so that my enemies were forced to pull up. This gave me a fair start, without which I could hardly have won clear. If it had not been for that lucky waggon, who knows what would have happened?
As it was, I tottered along with drawn pistol to the door of a great house (luckily for me the only house), which fronted the canal. I must have seemed a queer object, coming in from my ride like that, in a peaceful Dutch town. If I had chanced upon a magistrate I suppose I should have been locked up; but luck was with me on that day. I chanced only on Mynheer Stendhal as he sat smoking among his tulips in the front of his mansion. He jumped up with a “God bless me!” when he saw me.
“Mynheer Stendhal?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said in good English. “What is it, boy?”
“Take me in quick,” I said. “They're after me.”
CHAPTER X. SOUNDS IN THE NIGHT
In another minute, after Mr. Stendhal had read my note, I was skinning off my clothes in an upper bedroom. Within three minutes I was dressed like a Dutch boy, in huge baggy striped trousers belonging to Stendhal's son. In four minutes the swift Mr. Stendhal had walked me across the wharf in sabots to one of the galliots in the canal, which he ordered under way at once, to pick up Argyle at sea. So that when my pursuers rode up to Mr. Stendhal's door in search of me, I was a dirty little Dutch boy casting off a stern-hawser from a ring bolt. They seemed to storm at Mr. Stendhal; but I don't know what they said; he acted the part of surprised indignation to the life. When I looked my last on Mr. Stendhal he was at the door, begging a search party to enter to see for themselves that I was not hidden there. The galliot got under way, at that moment, with a good deal of crying out from her sailors. As she swung away into the canal, I saw the handsome lady idly looking on. She was waiting at the door with the other riders. She was the only woman there. To show her that I was a skilled seaman I cast off the stern-hawser nimbly, then dropped on to the deck like one bred to the trade. A moment later I was aloft, casting loose the gaff-topsail. From that fine height as the barge began to move I saw the horsemen turning away foiled. I saw the lady's leathered hat, making a little dash of green among the drab of the riding coats. Then an outhouse hid them all from sight. I was in a sea-going barge, bound out, under all sail, along a waterway lined with old reeds, all blowing down with a rattling shiver.
Now I am not going to tell you much more of my Holland experiences. I was in that barge for about one whole fortnight, during which I think I saw the greater part of the Dutch canals. We picked up Argyle at sea on the first day. After that we went to Amsterdam with a cargo of hides. Then we wandered about at the wind's will, thinking that it might puzzle people, if any one should have stumbled on the right scent. All that fortnight was a long delightful picnic to me. The barge was so like an Oulton wherry that I was at home in her. I knew what to do, it was not like being in the schooner. When we were lying up by a wharf, I used to spend my spare hours in fishing, or in flinging fiat pebbles from a cleft-stick at the water-rats. When we were under sail I used to sit aloft in the cross-trees, looking out at the distant sea. At night, after a supper of strong soup, we all turned in to our bunks in the tiny cabin, from the scuttle of which I could see a little patch of sky full of stars.
A boy lives very much in the present. I do not think that I thought much of the Duke's service, nor of our venture for the crown. If I thought at all of our adventures, I thought of the handsome woman with the grey, fierce eyes. In a way, I hoped that might have another tussle with her, not because I liked adventure, no sane creature does, but because I thought of her with liking. I felt that she would be such a brave, witty person to have for a friend. I felt sad somehow at the thought of not seeing her again. She was quite young, not more than twenty, if her looks did not belie her. I used to wonder how it was that she had come to be a secret agent. I believed that the sharp-faced horsey man had somehow driven her to it against her will. Thinking of her at night, before I fell asleep, I used to long to help her. It is curious, but I always thought tenderly of this woman, even though she had twice tried to kill me. A man's bad angel is only his good angel a little warped.