Martin reflected. “Coat?” he said, “no, a man takes off his coat if it is hot, and it might be left behind. Boots?—no, that would wear it out, especially if they got wet. Jersey?—sewn next the skin, no, same reason. Ah! I have it,” and, drawing out the great sword Silence, he took the point of his knife and began to turn a little silver screw in the hilt, one of many with which the handle of walrus ivory was fastened to its steel core. The screw came out, and he touched a spring, whereon one quarter of the ivory casing fell away, revealing a considerable hollow in the hilt, for, although Martin grasped it with one hand, the sword was made to be held by two. “What is that hole for?” asked Foy. “The executioner’s drug,” replied Martin, “which makes a man happy while he does his business with him, that is, if he can pay the fee. He offered his dose to me, I remember, before—” Here Martin stopped, and, having rolled up the parchment, hid it in the hollow. “You might lose your sword,” suggested Foy. “Yes, master, when I lose my life and exchange the hope of florins for a golden crown,” replied Martin with a grin. “Till then I do not intend to part with Silence.” Meanwhile Hendrik Brant had been whispering to the quiet man at the table, who now rose and said: “Foster-brother, do not trouble about me; I take my chance and I do not wish to survive you. My wife is burnt, one of my girls out there is married to a man who knows how to protect them both, also the dowries you gave them are far away and safe. Do not trouble about me who have but one desire—to snatch the great treasure from the maw of the Spaniard that in a day to come it may bring doom upon the Spaniard.” Then he relapsed into a silence, which spread over the whole company. “It is time to be stirring,” said Brant presently. “Hans, you will lead the way. I must bide here a while before I go abroad and show myself.” The pilot nodded. “Ready?” he asked, addressing Foy and Martin. Then he went to the door and whistled, whereon Red Bow with her pretended servant entered the vault. He spoke a word or two to them and kissed them each upon the brow. Next he went to Hendrik Brant, and throwing his arms about him, embraced him with far more passion than he had shown towards his own daughters. “Farewell, foster-brother,” he said, “till we meet again here or hereafter—it matters little which. Have no fear, we will get the stuff through to England if may be, or send it to hell with some Spaniards to seek it there. Now, comrades, come on and stick close to me, and if any try to stop us cut them down. When we reach the boat do you take the oars and row while I steer her. The girls come with us to the canal, arm-in-arm with the two of you. If anything happens to me either of them can steer you to the skiff called _Swallow_, but if naught happens we will put them ashore at the next wharf. Come,” and he led the way from the cellar.