ed Stoutenburg as he brought his clenched fist down
upon the table. "Thank God! I have got him at last."

He leaned across nearer still to Nicolaes and in his excitement clutched
his friend's wrists with nervy trembling fingers, digging his nails into
the other man's flesh till Beresteyn could have screamed with pain.

"From Delft," he murmured hoarsely, "the only way northwards is along
the left bank of the Schie, the river itself is choked with ice-floes
which renders it impassable. Just before Ryswyk the road crosses to the
right bank of the river over a wooden bridge which we all know well.
Half a league to the south of the bridge is the molens which has been my
headquarters ever since I landed at Scheveningen three weeks ago; there
I have my stores and my ammunition. Do you see it all, friend?" he
queried whilst a feverish light glowed in his eyes. "Is it not God who
hath delivered the tyrant into my hands at last? I start for Ryswyk
to-night with you to help me, Nicolaes, with van Does and all my friends
who will rally round me, with the thirty or forty men whom they have
recruited for placing at my disposal. The molens to the south of the
wooden bridge which spans the Schie is our rallying point. In the night
before the Stadtholder starts on his way from Delft we make our final
preparations. I have enough gunpowder stowed away at the mill to blow up
the bridge. We'll dispose it in its place during that night. Then you
Nicolaes shall fire the powder at the moment when the Stadtholder's
escort is half way across the bridge.... In the confusion and panic
caused by the explosion and the collapse of the bridge our men can
easily overpower the Prince's bodyguard--whilst I, dagger in hand, do
fulfil the oath which I swore before the altar of God, to kill the
Stadtholder with mine own hand."

Gradually as he spoke his voice became more hoarse and more choked with
passion; his excitement gained upon his hearers until both Nicolaes
Beresteyn his friend and Jan the paid spy and messenger felt their blood
tingling within their veins, their throats parched, their eyes burning
as if they had been seared with living fire. The tallow-candle flickered
in its socket, a thin draught from the flimsily constructed window blew
its flame hither and thither, so that it lit up fitfully the faces of
those three men drawn closely together now in a bond of ambition and of
hate.

"'Tis splendidly thought out," said Beresteyn at last with