“Fiend seize you, Christopher! What now?” protested Roxhythe, opening one heavy eyelid.
“He hath arrived!”
The other eye opened with an effort.
“Hath he indeed?” mocked Roxhythe. “What shall we do?”
“Nay!” blushed Christopher. “But you must admit that ’tis monstrous exciting, sir!”
My lord yawned and prepared to go asleep again.
“ ’Tis all a damned plaguey nuisance,” he murmured. “And I would I were at home.”
“So do not I,” retorted Christopher. “I swear I am enjoying myself as I have never done before. I marvel that you can go to sleep in this fashion!”
“I cannot with so much chatter in my ear,” complained his lordship. He opened his eyes to watch Christopher laugh. He always averred that to see Chris laugh afforded him much pleasure.
“Well, may I go out, sir?” asked Dart impatiently.
“By all means. You’ll find Rotterdam dull and unprofitable, but don’t let that dissuade you.”
“I’m not so blind that I cannot see from the window what a quaint place it is,” answered Christopher. He walked to the door. “I wish you might come with me, sir.”
“Go away!” begged Roxhythe.
Christopher found Rotterdam a prosperous town. He walked about its streets for some time, and in the course of his peregrinations, met a fat tradesman with whom he had speech. He wanted to hear the tradesman’s views on State Affairs, and what his feelings were towards the Prince of Orange. It seemed that the man was a butcher. He gave Christopher a long account of the price of meat. He deplored the fact that three of his bullocks, all very fine and in their prime, had lately sickened and died of a mysterious disease. He had dark suspicions that this was the work of a certain enemy of his who lived at the other end of the town and boasted that his custom was far greater than Mynheer Dagvelt’s. Christopher, only half comprehending, tried in broken Dutch to bring the conversation round to the Prince. Mynheer Dagvelt told him that his neighbour had had a spite against him from the day that two of his customers left him to deal with the far superior Dagvelt. Disgruntled, Christopher passed on his way.
He returned to the Flaming Sun shortly after sundown. Roxhythe had shaken off some of his sleepiness and was studying a map of Holland. He had changed his clothes and his nails had been carefully polished. He looked up as Christopher entered, and smiled.
“Well, what of the town?”
Christopher did not tell him of his encounter with Mynheer Dagvelt.
John put his head in at the door with the news that Mynheer de Staal was below. Roxhythe nodded.
“At once, John.”
Christopher rose to depart.
“Don’t go, Chris,” said my lord languidly. “You’ll like de Staal.”
The door opened again in a minute, and a small, white-haired gentleman came hesitatingly into the room, hat in hand.
Christopher was between him and Roxhythe, obscuring the latter. A pair of gentle blue eyes looked up into his face, and the finely cut lips smiled doubtfully.
“Milor’—Roxhyt’e?” said de Staal.
Roxhythe had pulled himself out of his chair, and now he came forward, hands outstretched.
“De Staal!”
“Milor’!” The sweet voice trembled. Before Roxhythe could prevent him, de Staal had carried both hands to his lips. “Milor’! Ah, milor’ … ! To see you again after all these years!” He spoke in Dutch.
“And you, de Staal! You are well?” Roxhythe’s English accent had disappeared.
“I grow old,” answered the other. “Yes, I am well. The sight of you would refresh a dying man, milor’.”
Roxhythe led him to a chair.
“You missed us, de Staal? Well, we’ve missed you, and all the old friends. Sometimes we pine for the sight of the old haunts—my little master and I.”
“Ah, the Prince! He is well? He is happy in his England?”
“Yes, he’s happy, de Staal.”
“And you?”
“Oh, I! But of course!”
De Staal regarded him wistfully.
“We heard how great you are in England, milor’; how powerful; what a courtier. Eh, eh! And it likes you, that life?”
“It likes me very well, de Staal. I am as my master—I’ve no mind to set out on my travels again.”
De Staal nodded slowly. His eyes never left Roxhythe’s face.
“You find me changed?” asked my lord.
“A little,” admitted de Staal. “There are lines where there were not, and your eyes have grown not so bright.”
“That is age,” smiled Roxhythe.
“It is the soft living,” replied de Staal. “I do not see the soldier, milor’.”
My lord gave a strange little sigh.
“He hath gone long since, my friend.” He sighed again.
“You almost make me wish I was a wanderer once more.” His smile was rather crooked. “You were surprised to get my letter?”
“I could not believe mine eyes! The sight of ‘Roxhyt’e’ across the page stunned me. I came as soon as I could leave the house. You want my help?”
“You guessed that?”
“You would not else have sent for me, milor’.”
Christopher cleared his throat. De Staal was a pathetic figure, and these calm words, spoken entirely without bitterness, made his eyelids smart suddenly.
Roxhythe did not expostulate.
“I am here on the King’s business, de Staal; business of a very private nature, and I am spied upon.”
“You have been spied upon before,” smiled de Staal. They both laughed.
“Ay, but this is more serious.”
“Your life is in danger?”
“Not a whit. But I must shake off the importunate gentleman. He is downstairs now, thinking me in bed with a low fever. I must ride to the Hague no later than tomorrow night and I do not desire the company of my friend.”
“Ah! You kill him?”
Roxhythe bit his lip.
“There are three of them or I might
