“Calm yourself, Captain,” says his consignee in soothing tone. “The regulation is very unusual. You will doubtless be permitted to pass through the gates to the quay at daylight.” “Yes, giving me the expense of a berth at an inn, and my comfortable cabin unoccupied. Another guilder wrung out of me in this port of Antwerp. If this thing goes on, the commerce of this place will be damned forever.” “But it will probably never occur again,” says the merchant. “Such a thing has not been heard of before for a year.” And the two go into conversation discussing the why’s and wherefore’s of this unusual vigilance at the gates. Guy gets to meditating upon this also. He had noticed before, during the early part of his meal, this same captain, apparently the guest of the same merchant at supper at one of the tables. Half an hour before this they had gone out; they have now returned, the captain having evidently been unable to pass the guards. If such orders have been issued the word of the night is probably useless. What can have caused it? Can it be some suspicion of his presence in the town? Even as he meditates, Oliver enters, a very serious look on his face. Stepping up to Guy’s table he seats himself by him and whispers: “Come with me.” “Why?” This is a whisper also. “Orders have been given for nobody to pass out of the gates of Antwerp to-night.” “The reason?” “I don’t know, unless they suspect your presence in the town. Come to my lodgings with me.” “No, I shall remain here,” replies the Englishman firmly. “Why?” “For two reasons. First, I won’t put further jeopardy upon you. Second, if orders are given for no one to pass the gates, I expect they will very shortly come to the quick ears of a young lady who is interested in one Major Guido Amati de Medina, an officer of Romero’s foot, absent from his post without leave. Incidentally to-day I mentioned to her that I stopped at the Painted Inn. This is the place where she would send to find me. But don’t stay with me, Oliver. My seizure in your company might bring suspicion on you—sit at another table!” “I won’t leave you, when perchance I can aid you,” says the generous artist. Then he mutters suddenly: “By heaven, perhaps it has come now!” And it has, though not as Antony fears, for little Ensign de Busaco, swinging through the door, takes one glance about the room and strides up to the Englishman. “I want you,” he says, while Guy’s hand quietly seeks the dirk in his bosom. “I want you to take one of the state barges down to Sandvliet to-night.” “Ah!”