But they will take no risks about the prisoner. Pleasure and five minutes' conversation with his friends, yes! but no attempt at escape. So the men make a wide circle sitting out of ear-shot, but shoulder to shoulder the thirty of them who happen to be awake. In the centre of the circle is the Laughing Cavalier tied to a beam, trussed like a fowl since he is to hang on the morrow. Close beside his feet is the lanthorn so that he may have a last look at his friends, and some few paces away his naked sword which Jan took from him when the men brought him down. He has listened to the whispered conversation--he knows that his brother philosophers are here. May the God of rogues and villains bless them for their loyalty. "And now St. Bavon show me the best way to make use of them!" There is still something to be done, which hath been left undone, a word hath been given and that pledge must be fulfilled, and the promised fortune still awaits him who will bring the jongejuffrouw safely to her father! "My God, if it were not for that broken shoulder and that torn hip! ... there are many hours yet before the morrow." "Old compeer!" came in a hoarse whisper close to his ear, "how did you come to such a pass?" "They came and took the jongejuffrouw away from Rotterdam," he replied also speaking in a whisper. "I had just returned from Delft, where I had business to transact and I recognized Jan beside the sledge into which the jongejuffrouw was stepping even then. He had ten or a dozen men with him. I felt that they meant mischief--but I had to follow ... I had to find out whither they were taking her...." "Verdommt!" growled Socrates under his breath. "Why did you not take us along?" "I meant to come back for you, as soon as I knew ... but in the dark ... and from behind, seven of these fellows fell upon me ... they used their skates like javelins ... mine were still on my feet ... I had only Bucephalus.... A blow from one of the heaviest blades cracked my shoulder, another caught me on the hip. There were seven of them," he reiterated with a careless laugh, "it was only a question of time, they were bound to bring me down in the end." "But who has done this?" queried Pythagoras with an oath. "A lucky rogue on whom God hath chosen to smile. But," he added more seriously and sinking his voice to the lowest possible whisper, "never mind about the past. Let us think of the future, old compeers." "We are ready," they replied simultaneously. "A knife?" he murmured, "can you cut these confounded ropes?" "They took everything from us," growled Socrates, "ere they let us approach you." "Try with your hands to loosen the knots." "What ho! you brigands, what are you doing there?" In a moment the circle around broke up. A crowd of angry faces were gathered closely round the philosophers, and more than one pair of rough hands were laid upon their shoulders.