ughed and muttered something about "twenty naps."

"Here we are at the corner. Remember, we all meet at the Red Lion at
eight," said the captain as he and Jacob walked away.

The Red Lion Becomes Dangerous

The boys were glad to find a blazing fire awaiting them upon their
return to the Red Lion. Carl and his party were there first. Soon
afterward Peter and Jacob came in. They had inquired in vain concerning
Dr. Boekman. All they could ascertain was that he had been seen in
Haarlem that morning.

"As for his being in Leyden," the landlord of the Golden Eagle had said
to Peter, "the thing is impossible. He always lodges here when in town.
By this time there would be a crowd at my door waiting to consult him.
Bah! People make such fools of themselves!"

"He is called a great surgeon," said Peter.

"Yes, the greatest in Holland. But what of that? What of being the
greatest pill choker and knife slasher in the world? The man is a bear.
Only last month on this very spot, he called me a PIG, before three
customers!"

"No!" exclaimed Peter, trying to look surprised and indignant.

"Yes, master--A PIG," repeated the landlord, puffing at his pipe with an
injured air. "Bah! If he did not pay fine prices and bring customers
to my house, I would sooner see him in the Vleit Canal than give him
lodging."

Perhaps mine host felt that he was speaking too openly to a stranger, or
it may be he saw a smile lurking in Peter's face, for he added sharply,
"Come, now, what more do you wish? Supper? Beds?"

"No, mynheer, I am but searching for Dr. Boekman."

"Go find him. He is not in Leyden."

Peter was not to be put off so easily. He succeeded in obtaining
permission to leave a note for the famous surgeon, or rather, he BOUGHT
from his amiable landlord the privilege of writing it there, and a
promise that it should be promptly delivered when Dr. Boekman arrived.
This accomplished, Peter and Jacob returned to the Red Lion.

This inn had once been a fine house, the home of a rich burgher, but
having grown old and shabby, it had passed through many hands, until
finally it had fallen into the possession of Mynheer Kleef. He was fond
of saying as he looked up at its dingy, broken walls, "Mend it and paint
it, and there's not a prettier house in Leyden." It stood six stories
high from the street. The first three were of equal breadth but of
various heights, the last three were in the great, high roof, and grew
smaller and