He can, perhaps, find safety himself in flight, but leave his men to be butchered or executed he will not. Every instinct of manhood compels him to stay with those whose lives he has put into such desperate jeopardy. Besides this poor French boy who has unwittingly risked his life to save him. But one thing can save them all! That is to get them out on the open sea on the Esperanza. He has lost last night’s chance of preparation by the failure of Achille’s horse. But he guesses that suspicion will not fall upon him for the next few hours. Brussels is thirty miles away, and even after word arrives it will take some time for the Spanish spies to discover that Andrea Blanco has dined with Oliver the traitor twice and breakfasted once at the Tower of the Angels. Altogether he thinks he is sure of six hours. So ordering the last few bales of cargo and hides to be discharged as quickly as possible, and bidding Achille to keep himself close in the cabin, he goes out hurriedly to the office of his consignees, which is just opening for the day’s business. Here getting word in the private office with the senior partner, he says: “I have discharged my cargo. Can’t you give me consignment in ballast to some place?” “Absurd!” answers the florid Jacobszoon. “Why should we send you with ballast when we can get charter money for you? Wait here until cargo is obtained.” “You must give me a consignment in ballast.” “Why?” “Because the custom house officers are loitering about my vessel.” “Verdomd! you been smuggling!” cries the senior partner. “If you’ve been getting us into trouble by your infamous sailor notions on that point, Captain Blanco, you can stay here and face it. I won’t help you.” This answer is discouraging. It shows Chester that Jacobszoon knows nothing of his junior’s operations with the twelve cases of goods. Guy goes out and loiters about the entrance of the office, determined to see Olins. That gentleman is an early office bird, notwithstanding his vigil of the night before, and he encounters him coming down Wool street. “I must have a word with you, Mijn Heer Olins,” he says. “Yes, come to the office.” “No, in private, and not at your office.” “Very well, this wine room,” answers Olins, looking hard at Guy, and leads the way to a place of refreshment with which apparently he is familiar, as the two get a private room together. “Now,” he says, “is it the money for that smuggling business, Capitan Blanco? I’ll have it for you in a few minutes, if your crew is impatient.” “No, it’s to demand that you give me an immediate consignment in ballast from this port.” “Impossible!” cries Olins shortly; then whispers: “Why do you want it?” “Because I’m suspected of smuggling.” “What, that lace last night?” mutters the Fleming, his face growing set. “No lace,” says Chester shortly. “A—ah! You must leave Antwerp on the tide,” whispers Olins, a bead of perspiration on the center of his forehead. “But where can I send you?”