"What was your business with her?"
"I never expected to land on Dutch shores, and so had no special
business; but finding myself here, I sought her out."
This all seemed fair enough; and the burgomaster, who was an honest man
and blessed with true Dutch stolidity, after consulting with his clerk
and colleague, informed me that inquiries would be made, and that
meanwhile I should remain in custody.
To my request to be allowed to send a letter to Biddy he returned a flat
and suspicious refusal. Nor, till my case stood clearer, would he order
the removal of the irons. So for the next twenty-four hours I lay in a
damp cell, with black bread and water to support my spirits, and the
thought of my little mistress to carry me through the weary hours.
About noon next day I was again summoned to the burgomaster's court,
where, among the curious crowd assembled to see the supposed English
spy, I recognised not only the Dutch skipper, but Martin. Biddy was not
there.
The burgomaster wore an air of sternness and self-importance which boded
no good.
"Captain Koop," said he to the skipper, "identify the prisoner."
"Most worshipful," replied the sailor, "this is the man we picked up,
who said he was a Frenchman, wrecked in the French ship _Zebre_."
"Was that true?" said the judge to me.
"Mynheer, I told you my tale yesterday. I am no Frenchman."
Then Martin was called forward, and looked hard at me with his sinister
eyes. An interpreter explained the burgomaster's questions.
"Witness, you state you know the man Gallagher. Is this he?"
"Now I look at him--yes; but I did not know him before with his beard."
"Is he a sailor in the service of the English Government?"
"He is; and no friend to the Irish people, for whom the Dutch republic
is fighting. More, by tokens, your honour," added Martin through the
interpreter, "now I know him, I know who it was who last night carried
away a certain Irish lady under my protection while on her way to the
Convent of the Carmelite Nuns."
"What do you say to that?" said the burgomaster to me, with a look of
horror, for he was a stout Catholic.
"I don't deny it," said I, curtly; "nor do I deny that this blackguard,
instead of trying to defend the lady, tumbled all of a heap with fright
off the carriage-box on to the road when I accosted him."
The interpreter smiled as he translated this, and Martin looked round
not too well pleased.
"Where is the lady?" demanded the burgomaster.
"That is my affair," said I. "She was carried away from her home by
this man against her will. She was rescued from him by me with her own
good will, and is now safe."
"With your friend at the Hague, doubtless?"