eabouts of this money. Nobody knows anything of it
now. Martin hid it, as I understand, and lost the paper, so it will lie
there till the Haarlemer Meer is drained."

"Dear me! Do you know I have heard that story before; yes, from the
excellent Martin himself--and, do you know, I don't quite believe it."

"I cannot help what you believe or do not believe. You may remember that
it was always my habit to speak the truth."

"Quite so, but others may be less conscientious. See here," and drawing
a paper from his doublet, he held it before her. It was nothing less
than the death-warrant of Dirk van Goorl, signed by the Inquisitor, duly
authorised thereto.

Mechanically she read it and understood.

"You will observe," he went on, "that the method of the criminal's
execution is left to the good wisdom of our well-beloved--etc., in plain
language, to me. Now might I trouble you so far as to look out of this
little window? What do you see in front of you? A kitchen? Quite so;
always a homely and pleasant sight in the eyes of an excellent housewife
like yourself. And--do you mind bending forward a little? What do you
see up there? A small barred window? Well, let us suppose, for the sake
of argument, that a hungry man, a man who grows hungrier and hungrier,
sat behind that window watching the cooks at their work and seeing the
meat carried into this kitchen, to come out an hour or two later as hot,
steaming, savoury joints, while he wasted, wasted, wasted and starved,
starved, starved. Don't you think, my dear lady, that this would be a
very unpleasant experience for that man?"

"Are you a devil?" gasped Lysbeth, springing back.

"I have never regarded myself as such, but if you seek a definition,
I should say that I am a hard-working, necessitous, and somewhat
unfortunate gentleman who has been driven to rough methods in order to
secure a comfortable old age. I can assure you that _I_ do not wish to
starve anybody; I wish only to find Hendrik Brant's treasure, and if
your worthy husband won't tell me where it is, why I must make him, that
is all. In six or eight days under my treatment I am convinced that
he will become quite fluent on the subject, for there is nothing that
should cause a fat burgher, accustomed to good living, to open his heart
more than a total lack of the victuals which he can see and smell. Did
you ever hear the story of an ancient gentleman called Tantalus? These
old fables have a wonderful way of ad