parchment to Stoutenburg. The latter then
ordered Jan to hold up the lanthorn so that by its light he might read
the writing.

This he did, twice over, with utmost attention; after which he tore off
very carefully a narrow strip from the top of the document.

"Now," he said quietly, "this paper, wherever found, cannot compromise
you in any way, Nicolaes. The name of Ben Isaje who alone could trace
the cypher signature back to you, we will scatter to the winds."

And he tore the narrow strip which he had severed from the document
into infinitesimal fragments, which he then allowed the wind to snatch
out of his hand and to whirl about and away into space. But the document
itself he folded up with ostentatious care.

"What do you want with that?" asked Beresteyn anxiously.

"I don't know yet, but it might be very useful," replied the other. "So
many things may occur within the next few days that such an ambiguously
worded document might prove of the utmost value."

"But ... the signature ..." urged Beresteyn, "my father...."

"The signature, you told me, friend, is one that you use in the ordinary
way of business whilst the wording of the document in itself cannot
compromise you in any way; it is merely a promise to pay for services
rendered. Leave this document in my keeping; believe me, it is quite
safe with me and might yet be of incalculable value to us. One never
knows."

"No! one never does know," broke in the prisoner airily, "for of a truth
when there's murder to be done, pillage or outrage, the Lord of
Stoutenburg never knows what other infamy may come to his hand."

"Insolent knave!" exclaimed Stoutenburg hoarsely, as with a cry of
unbridled fury he suddenly raised his arm and with the parchment roll
which he held, he struck the prisoner savagely in the face.

"Take care, Stoutenburg," ejaculated Beresteyn almost involuntarily.

"Take care of what," retorted the other with a harsh laugh, "the fellow
is helpless, thank God! and I would gladly break my riding whip across
his impudent face."

He was livid and shaking with fury. Beresteyn--honestly fearing that in
his blind rage he would compromise his dignity before his
subordinates--dragged him by the arm away from the presence of this man
whom he appeared to hate with such passionate intensity.

Stoutenburg, obdurate at first, almost drunk with his own fury, tried to
free himself from his friend's grasp. He wanted to lash the man he hated
once more