room that
the philosopher realized where he was.

The dark low walls showed themselves lined with solid oak chests and
presses, each with massive hinges and locks, rusty and covered with
dust, but firm enough to withstand for many an hour the depredations of
thieves. Ben Isaje was obviously a jeweller by trade and this was the
shop where he kept his precious goods: no wonder then that he looked
with obvious fear on his belated visitor with the powerful shoulders and
vigorous limbs, seeing that to all appearances he was at the moment
alone in the house.

Like all jewellers settled in the Dutch cities at this time Ben Isaje
carried on a number of other trades--some of which were perhaps not
altogether avowable. He acted as banker and moneylender, and general
go-between in financial transactions, some of which had political aims.
Discretion was of necessity his chief stock-in-trade, and his small
cargo of scruples he had thrown overboard long ago.

He was as ready now to finance a conspiracy against the Stadtholder as
against the Archduchess or Don John, provided he saw huge monetary
profits in the deal, and received bribes with a calm conscience both
from Maurice of Nassau and the Lord of Stoutenburg. But once he was
liberally paid he would hold to his bond: it was only by keeping the
good graces of all political parties that he remained free from
molestation.

Diogenes had known exactly what to expect when Nicolaes Beresteyn gave
him the letter and bond to present to Ben Isaje; he was, therefore, not
surprised in the least when he saw before him the true type of financial
agent whom already he had met more than once in his life before.

Ben Isaje, who was the depositary of vast sums of money placed in his
house by clients of substance and of note, wore a long, greasy kaftan of
black cloth, which was worn thread-bare at the elbows and the knees, and
the shop wherein he transacted business both for governments and private
individuals which oft times involved several million guilders, had only
a few very ricketty chairs, one or two tables blackened with dirt and
age, and a piece of tattered carpet in one corner as sole expressions of
comfort.

But all these facts were of course none of Diogenes' business. At his
host's invitation he had sat down on one of the ricketty chairs and then
proceeded to extract some papers from out the inner lining of his
doublet.

"It would save time," he began dryly, and seeing that the