"Yes; there is!" replied the Duke curtly. "A man who chooses to wrap himself up in a mantle of mystery; a spy of Orange--a rebel and traitor to the King. There is such a man, sirrah! He hath several times thwarted my projects with regard to Orange. If, as you say, Orange is not in Ghent then hath that man had a hand in helping him to get away. Well! what of that man, sirrah? I want him. He is called Leatherface by my soldiers. What of him, I say?" "Leatherface is in Ghent, Monseigneur," murmured Deynoot, scarce above his breath. "Come! that’s good! Then will our booty be even richer than we thought." "Leatherface is in Ghent, Monseigneur," continued Deynoot, more steadily. "But he is an elusive creature. Mysterious agencies are at work, so they say, to enable him to escape the many traps that are set for him. He swims like a fish, and climbs like an ape. He entered the city last night, an hour after all the gates had been closed. In the terrible confusion which will attend the destruction of our city, he would escape again.... But just now he is in Ghent, and..." "And you will deliver him over to me," broke in Alva with a harsh laugh, "if I will spare your city?" The Procurator-General nodded his head in reply. His lips refused him service for that awful, that irreparable "Yes!" The five men now no longer hung their heads. White as the linen ruffles round their throats, they were gazing straight into the face of the tyrant, trying to read the innermost thoughts of that inhuman devil, who held the destiny of their city--or of a brave man--in the hollow of his claw-like hands. Alva pondered; and while he did so his prominent, heavy-lidded eyes sought those of his colleagues no less inhuman, more devilish mayhap, than himself. And from behind the heavy portière there seemed to come a long drawn-out sigh, like some poor creature in pain. De Vargas frowned, and a muttered curse escaped his lips. "How long has she been there?" asked Alva quickly, in a whisper. "All the time," replied de Vargas, also under his breath. "But this is not for women’s ears." "Nay! your Highness does not know my daughter. It was the man Leatherface who killed her first lover. She would be happy to see him hang." "And she shall, too. She hath deserved well of us. We owe our present triumph to her." Then he turned once more to the burghers.