“The jolly captain cut it off his coat,” I said. “I remember how he drew his cutlass and cursed it roundly as a clumsy tool for such a service. ‘Take the button,’ he said. 'It’s a high price I pay you, for I value the name that’s scratched on the back. By my soul! If Tommy Tew is ever taken, there’ll be some damning tales in Yorke about the governor when they come to examine the buttons on his coat.'” “Fletcher was a fool to send him those buttons,” exclaimed Van Volkenberg. “But give me your hand, St. Vincent. You shall be my man. In the morning, if you still desire it, you shall put the red band upon your sleeve.” With that we shook hands. “What ails the brute?” cried the patroon, for the dog was growling again and walking about me in sidelong circles. Small wonder that he showed a strong aversion to me! I supposed that I had left him dead from our struggle in the woods. Doubtless his sides and neck still ached from that encounter. “Perhaps I can quiet him,” I said, smiling to myself. But when I put out my hand towards him he bounded back with a yelp of terror. Then he dashed through the door and was gone. “Humph!” exclaimed the patroon. “Like his mistress half the time.” “His mistress?” I cried in surprise, for I had thought that the dog belonged to the patroon. “Yes,” he answered, a frown gathering on his face. “Caesar belongs to a crazy old hag who lives in the hills. Meg of the Hills we call her. Poor Meg!” I thought little of the dog’s behavior then, but it was to come home to me before the night was over. Meantime, I felt more or less despondent, though, for the life of me, I could not say why. I had played my hand boldly and I had won. I was now, or should be in the morning, a member of the Red Band. I should be able to ferret out the patroon’s secrets. I hoped to be able to trip him up and thus put an end to his evil practices forever. Yet when we clasped hands in final agreement, I felt instinctively that I had met my match. Could it be that there were two play-actors in Van Volkenberg manor that night when I thought that there was but one? Did he see deeper than he pretended to see? Was he, as well as I, playing a part? Time alone could tell. But nothing is ever mended by worry; the thought of this old maxim soon drove away my fears, and my spirits rose in consequence. CHAPTER XVI “FIRE AND SLEETE AND CANDLE-LIGHT” Of all the crises of my life I am accustomed to think of the presentation of my silver button to the patroon as the most important. Nor did I underrate it at the time. On that night, when the manor was settling itself to sleep, I walked restlessly on the wide terrace, taking account of the game as it stood, of the cards in my hand, and reckoning forward on the play of the morrow.