“Milor’!” De Staal looked his reproach. “You ask me will I do it?”
“You will. Another thing. I want you to procure me a horse, and to stall it for me until I come to fetch it. You’ll do that too?”
“Assuredly. So you escape by night, hein?”
“By way of the window. With your permission I’ll spend the rest of the night with you.”
De Staal nodded.
“I wish I were coming!” said Christopher suddenly.
Roxhythe shook his head.
“You would greatly complicate matters, my dear Chris.”
De Staal looked enquiringly from one to the other. Roxhythe translated.
“Aha! De adventure appeal to you, hein?”
“I should like to be there, to help Lord Roxhythe.”
De Staal smiled approvingly.
“You should take heem, milor’.”
“Sacré nom! I think not.”
“If only you would, sir!” Christopher looked appealingly across at him.
“De Staal, why must you put such ideas into the child’s head? No, Chris, it’s impossible.”
“I am not a child.”
“I crave your pardon. An I thought you one, I should not leave you to dupe Mynheer Spy during my absence.”
Christopher was not appeased.
“It is so little to do, sir!”
“Chris, this is your first intrigue, and you expect to play the leading part! I have given you an all too difficult task as it is. Be assured that it is of great importance.”
Christopher was silent. He escorted de Staal part of the way home, and again he broached the subject.
“I would I might prevail upon my lord to take me with him, mynheer.”
“He tell me you are of grit use to heem here,” replied the Dutchman.
“Did he? I was afraid—I mean I do so little—I did not think I was of any use.”
“But yes. He t’ink a grit deal of you, Mynheer Dart.”
“Oh, is that true?”
De Staal cast him a shrewd glance.
“I should not say it eef eet were not. He tell me you are a ver’ prince of secretaries. Eet ees not often t’at milor’ t’ink a grit deal of a man. … You like heem, yes?”
“Yes,” said Christopher. “But I do not understand him.”
“No one understands heem,” answered de Staal placidly. “He ees what you English call—enigma. He ees a ver’ grit man. He throw a spell over you, hein? He make you do what he say?”
“He has great fascination,” admitted Christopher.
“He make all men love heem eef he like. Only he not like ver’ often.”
“No. He is sometimes very—very—”
“He make you angry, hein?”
“Yes, very.”
“I know. Eet ees hees way. You must always do what he say, nevair—what you call eet?—dispute with heem.”
“I am learning that!” grimaced Christopher.
“T’at ees well. You will love heem ver’ mooch one day, only, I warn you, do not love heem too mooch, for he ees Roxhyt’e, and he not care for any one save heemself and hees Prince.”
“Oh,” protested Christopher.
“You not belief me. You t’ink heem onselfish, and ver’ good. Well, I warn you, eet ees not so. You remember t’at always and you not get hurt.”
“But, mynheer, why should I get hurt?”
“Eef you love a man ver’ deeply, t’at man he have de power to hurt you ver’ mooch. Me, I love heem ver’ gritly, but I know t’at he ees—Roxhyt’e. One day perhaps he hurt you ver’ mooch eef you not take care. So I warn you.”
“Thank you very much, mynheer. But—oh, I feel sure that he is not like that!”
“You will see. You not belief me now, but one day you will remember what I say tonight, hein?”
“I hope not,” said Christopher gravely.
On his way back to the Flaming Sun, he decided that de Staal was very charming, but very morbid. He gave not another thought to the evening’s conversation.
De Staal visited my lord just before noon next day and Christopher saw him off the premises. For the benefit of all who might chance to be within earshot, de Staal gave him minute instructions concerning his “patient’s” treatment. Christopher hoped that the spy was near at hand.
He could hardly possess his soul in patience during the rest of the day, and Roxhythe’s placidity was a source of wonderment to him.
“One would think you were trying to get out of the way,” my lord twitted him. “I only hope you will not run your head into a noose while I am gone, in your lust for adventure. Sit down and write to your brother.”
“Why?” asked Christopher.
“How argumentative you are! Tell him that you are coming to the Hague, with a certain Mr. Curtis, and have rooms at the Three Fishers. Tell him to visit you at six in the evening tomorrow. And tell him to ask for Curtis. Say naught that spies might not read with impunity.”
Christopher looked up.
“Oh, Roderick is not suspect, sir! He was engaged by De Witt himself.”
“Yet he is the Prince, his man?”
“He is now.”
“Ah!” said Roxhythe.
Christopher scratched away at the parchment.
“Seal and address it,” ordered Roxhythe.
Christopher obeyed, and handed it over to him.
“There’s naught else, sir?”
“I think not. You know all that you have to do. Keep Mynheer Spy content, and listen every night for the hoot of an owl, twice repeated.”
“I do trust you will come to no harm, sir,” said Christopher anxiously.
“You had best wish success to my mission,” was the gloomy response. “God knows, it needs it,” he added beneath his breath.
At half-past ten he was ready to start. A voluminous cloak concealed his rich riding dress, and heavy top boots were on his feet. He thrust his gloves into his belt and donned his beaver.
“So it is fare ye well, Chris! You took that package to de Staal?”
“For your journey? Yes, sir.”
Roxhythe opened the window softly, and looked
