aged, Foy, excellently well managed.
But go on."

"I think that is about all," said Foy shortly, "except that two of the
Spaniards got away in a boat, one of whom is believed to be the head spy
and captain, Ramiro."

"But, son, up in Adrian's chamber just now you said something about
having made a map of the hiding-place of the gold. Where is it, for it
should be put in safety?"

"Yes, I know I did," answered Foy, "but didn't I tell you?" he went
on awkwardly. "Martin managed to drop the thing in the cabin of the
_Swallow_ while we were lighting the fuses, so it was blown up with the
ship, and there is now no record of where the stuff was buried."

"Come, come, son," said Dirk. "Martha, who knows every island on the
great lake, must remember the spot."

"Oh! no, she doesn't," answered Foy. "The truth is that she didn't come
with us when we buried the barrels. She stopped to watch the Spanish
ship, and just told us to land on the first island we came to and dig a
hole, which we did, making a map of the place before we left, the same
that Martin dropped."

All this clumsy falsehood Foy uttered with a wooden face and in a voice
which would not have convinced a three-year-old infant, priding himself
the while upon his extraordinary cleverness.

"Martin," asked Dirk, suspiciously, "is this true?"

"Absolutely true, master," replied Martin; "it is wonderful how well he
remembers."

"Son," said Dirk, turning white with suppressed anger, "you have always
been a good lad, and now you have shown yourself a brave one, but I pray
God that I may not be forced to add that you are false-tongued. Do you
not see that this looks black? The treasure which you have hidden is the
greatest in all the Netherlands. Will not folk say, it is not wonderful
that you should have forgotten its secret until--it suits you to
remember?"

Foy took a step forward, his face crimson with indignation, but the
heavy hand of Martin fell upon his shoulder and dragged him back as
though he were but a little child.

"I think, Master Foy," he said, fixing his eyes upon Lysbeth, "that your
lady mother wishes to say something."

"You are right, Martin; I do. Do you not think, husband, that in these
days of ours a man might have other reasons for hiding the truth than a
desire to enrich himself by theft?"

"What do you mean, wife?" asked Dirk. "Foy here says that he has buried
this great hoard with Martin, but that he and Martin do not know where
t