"Zounds, Sherry, you will not stand by and see your own cousin so misused. ’Tis a vile plot. I have done nothing; what are the ladies to me? what is Polignac to me? Sherry, unhand these boors; I shall catch my death of cold; Sherry, I say, blood is thicker than water——" "Ay sure, but it bean’t so cold." "Od rat you!" shouted the enraged captain as he was hauled with Polignac out of the house. He kept up his clamorous entreaties and oaths until the very moment when, with a sounding splash, he was heaved into the canal, and with spluttering breathlessness struck out with Polignac for the other side. A moment’s observation sufficed to show the Hollanders that their victims could swim; they watched the scene with Dutch stolidity, Grootz placidly smoking his long-deferred pipe. "Ay, ’tis the water of affliction, as the Book says," remarked Sherebiah sententiously as he watched the swimmers gain the farther bank, clamber up, and slink away, Aglionby obviously pouring out the vials of his wrath upon the miserable Frenchman. "’Tis the fust time for many a day cold water have gone down Rafe’s throat, and mebbe he’s changed his mind by now about blood bein’ thicker ’n this water." "I admire your strategy, Mynheer," said Harry to Grootz. "Zo! We must send dis money to Polignac; his house is near at hand. Dere is one ding to zay: de house is mine, after all. I paid off de mortgage last week—let us zay, for a friend. Dat is all dat Madame need know: Grootz has paid de bonds—both bonds, house and land—for a friend: a matter of business; you understand." "Very well, Mynheer; I will be diplomatic if she asks for more information." But Harry was as much puzzled by Grootz’s attitude as he had been by the lady’s. "So Captain Aglionby is your cousin?" he said to Sherebiah later in the day. "Ay, to be sure: old feyther’s sister’s son. A fine loven feller for a coz, bean’t he, sir?" "He has got off too lightly, Sherry." "Mebbe, but he’ll come to his reckonen some day. You mind seein’ me trounce un the day arter I shouted for the noble lord?" "Yes, and you would not tell me the reason." "Nay, I was ’shamed for my blood. Folks thowt ’twas Rafe as loosed John Simmons. ’Twarn’t him; ’twas me." "You!" "Ay. I knowed as the highway business were a trick o’ Rafe’s, and I knowed as how Simmons would split on un. Fat’ll be in fire then, thinks I. Rafe’ll go to hangman, and poor old feyther o’ mine’ll die o’ shame at such a kicken end for his own sister’s child. I couldn’t stand that, sir, so when Willum Nokes was a-snoren I took down keys from the nail and had Simmons out in a twink." "But that doesn’t explain why you fought the captain."