“As far as my information goes,” says Oliver, “no living man has put his eyes on where he keeps this treasure, though I have a suspicion. The great statue that he is erecting, the one that will be undraped next week, in the enceinte of the Citadel here, has something peculiar in its dimensions. Its pedestal is enormous. The workmen employed upon its base have been brought from Italy, and are under the direct personal supervision of Paciotto, his engineer. These having finished the pedestal, have all been reshipped, bountifully rewarded, to their native country. Not one has been permitted to remain in the Netherlands. There’s a secret in that statue!” Further consideration of this is suddenly broken in upon by the entrance of the ex-burgomaster and his daughter. The old gentleman seems pleased. “You’ll stay and sup with me, gentlemen, I hope,” he remarks. “I am happy to announce that my daughter Mina has been an obedient little girl this afternoon, and sold goods for me in my shop—four hundred guilders worth, to the Countess de Pariza, two hundred paid in cash, something that never happened to me before in my dealings with the nobility. But then,” he chucks Mina under the chin, “my little girl is a very sharp business woman. Some day she’ll be as valuable as her poor mother was.” “Father,” says the young lady, taking advantage of the circumstances, “can I go to the Duchess of Aerschot’s?” “Humph! Well, you’re young, you shall be happy; but don’t keep the horses out all night; you know I use them in the goods van in the morning. Gentlemen, remain, and I’ll show you my little girl is not only a good saleswoman, but a cook and housewife.” “Father!” ejaculates the young lady very sternly, “Remember that we have a Frenchman-cook in the house!” But Guy does not stay to test the cuisine of the Bodé Volcker mansion. Having had his tête-à-tête with brunette, he gives Oliver a chance of interview with blonde, and goes off to the Painted Inn, where Antony promises to join him early in the evening. It is now dark, and seating himself in the wine room, which is illuminated by oil lamps and flickering candles, the Englishman orders a bounteous supper, knowing that he may be up all the night returning to his ship. Success has given him appetite, though he scarce knows what he is eating, for his whole meal is a succession of recollections, each one a rapture. These rhapsodies are suddenly and disagreeably broken in upon. A man, apparently from his dress and demeanor the captain of some trading vessel, strides into the room followed by a burgher, and with a muttered oath slaps himself into a chair at the table next to Chester. “Voor den duivel!” he growls, “not permitted to pass the city gates to go to my own ship. What’ll become of my cargo, half landed. The mate and drunken crew will be having a fine time!”