“Ay, that we did,” continued Van Volkenberg. “Do you remember Caesar? We set him on your track last night. Where do you think he went? Straight for my study window on the outside. Perhaps you don’t know that this Michael Le Bourse stood out there the other night—well, if he were not dead he should feel my hand.” The patroon’s face clouded for an instant; then he continued: “When the dog went there I thought that you were Le Bourse in disguise, for there is a familiar look about your eyes, and I only half believed your story. But Ronald’s business pressed, and after that Louis held out that it was all a mistake.” “It was,” mumbled the dwarf. “Yes, yes, stick to it. Louis is a bulldog to his belief. Nothing would suit him but to try the hound again. This time he led us a long chase to a place where Louis had met some friends of his by Webber’s tavern—never mind who they were. Do what we could, the hound would not take another scent. So Louis stuck out that there was no meaning in it at all, and I had to give in to him. But fast on that came a report that you—I mean, Le Bourse—had gone post for Albany. I’m quick at putting two and two together, and I said to Louis: ‘Not at all. He’s gone post to the Hanging Rock.’ It came close to going hard with you then.” “How did it come to pass otherwise?” I managed to say in a tolerably firm voice. “Let Louis tell. It was his doing. Speak up my little hawk.” He lifted his impassive face slowly. “It is my habit to make sure. The master could not go. The young mistress was the only other one who had seen you. I said, 'Send her.'” “And she found you dead.” The patroon laughed loudly at his joke. “Yes, she found you dead. So that settled my doubts. Here is my hand. Welcome to the Red Band.” After a few more words he dismissed the dwarf in order to talk to me alone. “St. Vincent,” he began, “I have a delicate task for you to undertake. Doubtless you know that I and my household are in bad repute in Yorke. You see, this putting arms into the hands of my retainers is a new custom in the province. We patroons are bound to get the power, but I am the only one who has had the courage to begin in the proper way. The gossips tell strange stories about me and mine. I keep them away from the ears of Miriam; but—God bless her!—she loves to see the gay sights of the town. I shall let her ride to Yorke this afternoon and you shall ride with her. Mind you keep her ears stuffed with wax against the common murmur. That is your task.” Towards three o’clock I stood before the terrace beside our horses awaiting Mistress Miriam’s coming out. Soon she came. The blood mantled in her cheek and she drew back when her eyes fell upon me. “I thought I should go alone or with Annetje,” she said to her father. “I think that Monsieur St. Vincent will be better company. Pretty maids like you should not ride alone nowadays.”