Van Clynne's plan for foiling Dr. Keen was a classic snare maneuver, during which he would offer himself as temporary bait while his Connecticut soldiers closed the noose. After positioning his men in the woods near the cottage, he snuck back to the roadway and prepared to proceed toward the cottage.
At this point, sweet Jane threatened to become a barrier to the plan, wanting to join him. Van Clynne had to turn his considerable powers of persuasion on her, assuring her that in the first place he was well armed — the red ruby dirk was hidden up his sleeve and two tomahawks were secreted at the sides of his coat — and in the second, she would perform a much more useful function by remaining here.
'Doing what?'
'Well, you shall be our reserve,' proclaimed the Dutchman. 'Ready to swoop in like winged Victory herself at the moment of denouement.'
'That is not a job,' said Jane. 'Rose is my friend and I want to help rescue her. I can and I shall.'
Van Clynne recognized the strong bent in her eyes and knew it was as useless to argue with her as to rant against the lingering thunder.
Not that he wouldn't try either.
'Well, then,' said the Dutchman, 'you must sneak into the coach and attempt to retrieve my coins, if that's where they are. You can already consider them part of our joyful estate. As the wedding proverb says, 'What's yours is yours and what's mine is yours,' or something along those lines.'
The squire was in fact endeavoring to send her from harm's way, as he supposed the coach would be far from the line of fire. Jane nodded at his advice that she must postpone her advance until he had given her a clear signal-a Mohawk war whoop. He demonstrated once to make sure she knew the sound.
'That's not a Mohawk call,' she objected. 'It's Huron.'
Van Clynne frowned and made a note to instruct her on her future duties as faithful wife when he found himself at greater leisure.
Had Keen not already detected the Dutchman's presence thanks to an elaborate system of strings placed further north on the highway, the war whoop would have fully alerted him. In any event, he was well prepared when van Clynne rode slowly down the road to the ruined cottage, glanced around the environs, and then entered the small building. The fire had taken away three-quarters of the roof and a good portion of the rear wall, but otherwise it was reasonably intact, if sooty.
Fully expecting a trap, the Dutchman examined the shadows carefully. Then he set a candle on the stump of a stool before the fireplace and lit its wick with a bit of flint. The rain had ceased, and the stars were making an effort to contribute some illumination, but even so the ruins were dark. Still, there was more than enough light to reveal van Clynne's purses on a charred table in the center of the room.
The Dutchman's joy at discovering that they contained all of his coins was interrupted by Keen's voice behind him.
'And so, Mr. Clynne, we meet again.'
'The van is an important part of my name,' snapped the Dutchman, tucking the money inside his coat as he turned around. Even the dim candle before the hearth had enough light to reflect off the polished barrel of the weapon Keen held — an ancient though apparently operative matchlock musket, whose smoldering fuse hung at its side. 'You should not like being called Dr. 'En, I suppose.' 'A man holding a gun on me can call me anything he pleases.' 'That is an interesting weapon,' conceded van Clynne. 'I took it for a museum piece.' 'Not at all. It is very old, but still exceedingly efficient.' 'Of Dutch design, I suppose.' 'Hardly.'
'And the girl?' asked van Clynne, taking a short step to his right as he looked for cover. 'What have you done with her?'
'She was having difficulty sleeping, so I prescribed some powders. They seem to have worked very well; I left her snoring on the bench of my coach.'
Van Clynne took another step. His lighting of the candle had been a signal to his men that he was inside; they were to proceed forthwith to the attack, advancing with weapons drawn and bayonets sharpened. The Dutchman had only to pass a few light words with his quarry and the engagement would be his. In truth, rarely had victory come to him so easily.
'I see you have not yet replaced your hat,' said the Dutchman. 'But you have at least improved the color of your coat.'
'I like to believe I can learn from my mistakes.'
Van Clynne frowned to himself and wondered where his men were. This was the problem with using soldiers who were not Dutch — they might be filled with energy, but had no sense of timing or discipline. 'Considering that you are a medical doctor, sir,' he stalled, 'perhaps you would consult with me on certain difficulties I have been having with my digestion. You worked wonders with your leeches.'
'I don't intend on making that mistake again,' said Keen, moving his left hand to the fuse.
Van Clynne threw himself toward the candle, dousing the light and yelling for his men to launch their assault. But he was not answered by the glorious sounds of a charging company of bloodthirsty Continentals. Nor did Keen fire in his direction. Instead, the night became day and van Clynne found himself not only illuminated but surrounded by a ring of bright phosphorous laid in a deep trail with several full pots at strategic spots in the ruins. The surrounding walls, which had been covered with a thin pitch, caught fire, becoming thick torches in the night.
At the same time, a dozen barrels placed in the woods ignited with a purplish powder that rendered anyone within twenty feet completely helpless — and so was van Clynne's army temporarily annihilated.
'You didn't think I would shoot at you in the dark, did you?' asked Keen. The doctor had concealed a small bomblet in his hand, and lit it off the gun's fuse before dropping it into a pile of the phosphorus. 'I'm afraid I found it expedient to remove the brigade you brought here; I wouldn't want them interfering with our interview.'
Van Clynne pulled himself up indignantly. 'This is but a stage trick,' he said. 'What will we have next, dancing clowns?'
'If you wish,' said Keen, pointing the gun at van Clynne's feet. 'Dance.'
'I will not, sir. I would rather die.'
The bullet that ricocheted directly at van Clynne's feet did not change his opinion, but the second one did. The Dutchman hopped up immediately, and was still in the air when the third bullet whizzed by his toes.
The reader, not to mention the squire, will naturally wonder how Keen was able to accomplish this, when he was holding only one gun. The ingenious doctor had used his study of the writings of Marco Polo and certain Chinese scholars to construct a musket with multiple tubes, whose lock end contained not one but three different firing mechanisms. Small balls and their charges were wedged into cylinders directly above the stock and ignited by the end of the fuse when it was touched against them.
Keen did not bother explaining the gun's genesis or operation to van Clynne. Out of bullets, he merely put down the gun and reached into his pocket for another weapon, this one considerably more familiar to the Dutchman — Jake's Segallas. Van Clynne was not idle during this small interlude, reaching for a tomahawk and unleashing it in the doctor's direction. As he did so, it vanished into a wall of flames that suddenly shot up in front of him.
'I had some ambitions on being a stage designer when I was young,' said Keen as the flare-up subsided. 'I'm afraid I still have a tendency to indulge myself in theatrical bombast.' 'I was indeed impressed by that trick, sir. I begin to feel humbled in your presence.' 'If you believe in God, prepare your soul to meet him,' said Keen, pointing the gun. 'I recognize your weapon, sir; it belongs to a friend of mine who will go to great lengths to get it back.' 'Indeed.'
'Its bullets, if I may say, are rather small.' Claus took a cautious step forward. 'They will sting, but they will not kill me.'
'They do indeed sting,' said Keen, whose own buttocks attested to their effect. 'But I have taken the opportunity to add a treatment to them that will make them do considerably more than that. You have heard of the scorpion?'
'A delightful creature,' said van Clynne. 'Are you planning on following his example and cut your head off, now that I have you surrounded?'
'On your knees, pig.'
'Jane — no!' shouted van Clynne.
His exclamation was completely in earnest, for Jane had managed to elude the ring of smoke and flames and
