Now in that night Boxtel would climb over the wall and, as he knew the position of the bulb which was to produce the grand black tulip, he would filch it; and instead of flowering for Cornelius, it would flower for him, Isaac; he also, instead of Van Baerle, would have the prize of a hundred thousand guilders, not to speak of the sublime honour of calling the new flower Tulipa nigra Boxtellensis,--a result which would satisfy not only his vengeance, but also his cupidity and his ambition. Awake, he thought of nothing but the grand black tulip; asleep, he dreamed of it. At last, on the 19th of August, about two o’clock in the afternoon, the temptation grew so strong, that Mynheer Isaac was no longer able to resist it. Accordingly, he wrote an anonymous information, the minute exactness of which made up for its want of authenticity, and posted his letter. Never did a venomous paper, slipped into the jaws of the bronze lions at Venice, produce a more prompt and terrible effect. On the same evening the letter reached the principal magistrate, who without a moment’s delay convoked his colleagues early for the next morning. On the following morning, therefore, they assembled, and decided on Van Baerle’s arrest, placing the order for its execution in the hands of Master van Spennen, who, as we have seen, performed his duty like a true Hollander, and who arrested the Doctor at the very hour when the Orange party at the Hague were roasting the bleeding shreds of flesh torn from the corpses of Cornelius and John de Witt. But, whether from a feeling of shame or from craven weakness, Isaac Boxtel did not venture that day to point his telescope either at the garden, or at the laboratory, or at the dry-room. He knew too well what was about to happen in the house of the poor doctor to feel any desire to look into it. He did not even get up when his only servant--who envied the lot of the servants of Cornelius just as bitterly as Boxtel did that of their master--entered his bedroom. He said to the man,-- “I shall not get up to-day, I am ill.” About nine o’clock he heard a great noise in the street which made him tremble, at this moment he was paler than a real invalid, and shook more violently than a man in the height of fever. His servant entered the room; Boxtel hid himself under the counterpane. “Oh, sir!” cried the servant, not without some inkling that, whilst deploring the mishap which had befallen Van Baerle, he was announcing agreeable news to his master,--“oh, sir! you do not know, then, what is happening at this moment?” “How can I know it?” answered Boxtel, with an almost unintelligible voice. “Well, Mynheer Boxtel, at this moment your neighbour Cornelius van Baerle is arrested for high treason.” “Nonsense!” Boxtel muttered, with a faltering voice; “the thing is impossible.” “Faith, sir, at any rate that’s what people say; and, besides, I have seen Judge van Spennen with the archers entering the house.”