They slammed the oak door upon us. We lay in the darkness. In the next room when most of them departed, we fancied some half a dozen had been left to guard us. We heard their voices; the light from their candles showed through the chinks of the interior log wall. We whispered to each other. We were worried about Nanette but she was unhurt. "Yes, all right, Alan. But I'm so frightened." "At least it's better than being in Turber's hands, Nanette." If we could escape now, there might still be time to get back to the tower. If not--well, we might be stranded here to live out our lives in New Amsterdam. But at least, these Dutchmen probably would not murder us. But could we escape? It seemed impossible. We lay in the darkness on the log floor, bound securely. An interval went by. There was a stir outside. Thumping. More voices. The door opened. Peter Stuyvesant came in. He stood, balanced upon his wooden leg and regarded us in the light of a candle held aloft. Eyed us as though we were some monstrosities; poked at us with the peg of his leg; and turned and stumped back to the doorway. And in the doorway then, I saw Wolf Turber standing! Turber, in his black cloak, his white shirt gleaming beneath it. His sardonic gaze upon us. The thing struck us with such surprise and horror that neither Alan nor I moved, or spoke. The door was left open. Turber and Stuyvesant sat at a table. The candlelight showed them plainly. There seemed now only one other man in the room--some trusted patroon, no doubt. Turber spoke this contemporary Dutch. They conversed. We could hear them, but could not understand a word. What they said, never will be disclosed. Unrecorded history, this! A furtive, hidden incident--who was there ever to record it? Did Stuyvesant think Turber some magician? Or just a rich adventurer? A bargain was struck. From a bag Turber produced jewels. And coins, and chunks of gold. He piled them on the table in the candlelight. He and Stuyvesant drank from their goblets to seal the bargain. Stuyvesant gathered up the treasure and stuffed it in the pockets of his great-coat. [Illustration: _A bargain was struck with Peter Stuyvesant._] Turber came in to us. He bent down. "If you speak or move, I'll have them kill you now." He chuckled. "Say good-by to Nanette--quite a little fortune I paid for her, but she's worth it." He lifted up Nanette. He untied her thongs. She cried out--just once. "Don't be frightened, child. I won't hurt you." Alan and I were straining at our bonds. "Quiet, you fools!" We had helplessly tried to menace him with words. He led Nanette from the room. The door closed upon us. We could hear Stuyvesant leaving. And then Turber taking Nanette away. His voice reached us: "Don't be frightened, child." There was silence. Another interval passed. There were again guards in the room outside. I whispered: "Alan, it must be nearly dawn."