trust you, my youngster," answered the janizary. And,
thrusting a piece of iron into his mouth, he forced him out of the room.

Sir Rowland witnessed these proceedings like one stupified. He neither
attempted to prevent his nephew's departure, nor to follow him.

Jonathan kept his keen eye fixed upon him, as he addressed himself for a
moment to the Hollander.

"Is the case of watches on board?" he asked in an under tone.

"Ja," replied the skipper.

"And the rings?"

"Ja."

"That's well. You must dispose of the goldsmith's note I gave you
yesterday, as soon as you arrive at Rotterdam. It'll be advertised
to-morrow."

"De duivel!" exclaimed Van Galgebrok, "Very well. It shall be done as
you direct. But about dat jonker," he continued, lowering his voice;
"have you anything to add consarnin' him? It's almosht a pity to put him
onder de water."

"Is the sloop ready to sail?" asked Wild, without noticing the skipper's
remark.

"Ja," answered Van; "at a minut's nodish."

"Here are your despatches," said Jonathan with a significant look, and
giving him a sealed packet. "Open them when you get on board--not
before, and act as they direct you."

"I ondershtand," replied the skipper, putting his finger to his nose;
"it shall be done."

"Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, turning to the knight, "will it please you
to remain here till I return, or will you accompany us?"

"I will go with you," answered Trenchard, who, by this time, had
regained his composure, and with it all his relentlessness of purpose.

"Come, then," said Wild, marching towards the door, "we've no time to
lose."

Quitting the night-cellar, the trio soon arrived at the riverside. Quilt
Arnold was stationed at the stair-head, near which the boat containing
the captive boy was moored. A few words passed between him and the
thief-taker as the latter came up; after which, all the party--with the
exception of Quilt, who was left on shore--embarked within the wherry,
which was pushed from the strand and rowed swiftly along the stream--for
the tide was in its favour--by a couple of watermen. Though scarcely two
hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. The moon had arisen, and
everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. A thin
mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly
look. As they approached London Bridge, the thief-taker whispered Van
Galgebrok, who acted as steersman, to make for a particular arch-