IN DURANCE VILE.
The boys passed a sleepless night in a none too clean cell. A sentry
paced up and down in front of the bars, as if they stood committed for
some heinous offense. To keep their spirits up, they tried to make light
of the affair. But in that dreary place, with the stone-flagged floor
and the steel grating, it was pretty hard to be lively.
“Never mind; it won’t last long, and think what a laugh we’ll have on
these fool police once we are out,” said Jack with a dismal attempt at a
chuckle.
“Yes; but in the meantime, they have the laugh on us,” objected Raynor
with grim humor. “Anyhow, I’m not sorry. Those ruffians would certainly
have robbed those two women if we hadn’t done something,” he added.
“We made our mistake in not standing our ground and facing the police,”
decided Jack.
“I guess they’d have gathered us in on general principles, we being the
only people in sight. Their motto seems to be, ‘We’ve got to collar
someone and it might as well be you.’”
“That’s the way it appears to be,” agreed Jack with a sigh.
It seemed as if that night would never pass. But, like everything else,
it came to an end at last. With a great clanking and parade of police,
the boys were marched forth and ordered into a covered wagon. Then they
were jolted off over the cobbled streets and finally ordered to alight
in front of a building that looked as if the old burgomasters of the
place might have transacted business there.
It was, in fact, one of the ancient guild-houses of the city, and bore a
coat of arms on its ornate, time-stained front. Inside, it was cool and
dark, with scrupulously clean floors and furnishings. Had the boys been
in any more pleasant situation, they would have admired the quaint old
carved beams and the stone-work enriched by clever, bygone masons’
tools. But just then they had no eye for architecture.
They were ushered into a large room whose groined ceiling and dark oak
panels made it appear that only twilight ever filtered through the
stained-glass windows, set in frames of carved stone. At one end, behind
a high desk of dark, shiny wood, which looked as if it were as old as
the building, sat a dried-up dignitary with a skin like parchment,
peering through a great pair of heavy, horn-rimmed spectacles.
In front of him was a huge pewter ink-stand with pens sticking up in it
like quills upon a porcupine. Before this personage, whom they guessed
to be the officiating magistrate, the boys were marched with much pomp
and ceremony. Then the little mustached official who had played the
leading part in their arrest stepped forward.
With a bow and a flourish he explained the case. To the boys’
astonishment, too, they saw their caps handed up. Evidently the police
had found them and taken them up as evidence. This was a hopeful sign,
for in each cap the owner’s name was inscribed.
“They’ll know that we told the truth about our names, anyway,” said
Jack, nudging Raynor.
At this juncture there was a sudden disturbance in the back of the court
room, and in broke a burly, sun-bronzed man. It was Captain Bracebridge,
the last man in the world the boys wanted to have see them in such a
position. They crimsoned with mortification and felt ready to sink
through the floor.
The captain burst through a line of small Antwerp police, who tried to
restrain him, like a runaway horse through a crowded street. He came
straight up to the boys and gasped out breathlessly:
“Read about it in the papers and rushed straight here. What’s the truth
of it all?”
“Then you don’t believe that police story?” asked Jack gratefully.
“Of course not. Tell me all about it.” He turned to a short, sallow man,
carrying a big bag, who had followed him in, like the dust in the trail
of the whirlwind. “This is a lawyer. He’ll straighten this thing out in
a brace of shakes.”
The lawyer made a long harangue to the court, of which none of the
Americans understood a word; but apparently he had asked leave to take
his clients into a consulting room, for presently they were ushered into
a chamber which might have been, and probably was, used for the purpose
in medieval times. They were in the midst of their story, when another
disturbance occurred outside. A handsome automobile had driven up, out
of which stepped a portly personage with dignified, white whiskers,
gold-rimmed eye-glasses, top-hat and frock-coat.
“Monsieur La Farge, the head of the government railways,” whispered the
loungers in the court room as he hastened down the aisle and whispered
to the magistrate, who received him with great deference.
The next moment he, too, was escorted into the consulting room. To the
boys’ amazement, he rushed up to them and, with continental
demonstrativeness, began wringing their hands up and down and uttering a
tirade against the police, the methods they employed and the force in
general.
“You are interested in this case, sir?” inquired Captain Bracebridge.
“Interested!” M. La Farge appeared to be about to explode. “The police!
Bah! Dunderheads! Idiots! Assassins! These boys saved my wife and
daughter from ruffians who would rob them, and——”
“Your wife and daughter?” exclaimed the boys in one breath. Their case
was certainly taking a startling turn, for already their attorney had
whispered who the newcomer was and his high rank.
“Yes, they told me about it on their arrival home last night, and also
about the cowardly, foolish actions of Alphonse, the chauffeur, whom I
have discharged. When I read in the papers of the arrest of two American
lads and the story that they told, despite which the police had arrested
them, I was angry, furious. I knew then that the deliverers of my dear
ones had been arrested like felons,” exploded M. La Farge. “I hastened
here at once to make what reparation I could for such an act of the
idiots, the police! Bah!”
“Perhaps the police were not altogether to blame,” said Jack as the
peppery M. La Farge concluded his angry harangue. “We should not have
run away, and then perhaps we should not have been arrested.”
“It was all the fault of that foolish chauffeur in driving away as he
did,” exclaimed M. La Farge. “But in one sense I am glad all this has
happened, although I am deeply mortified at the same time. Had it not
been for this occurrence, I should never have known whom to thank for
the brave act you performed. I could not have rewarded you——”
He drew out a check book. But both boys held up expostulating hands.
“None of that, if you please, sir,” said Jack.
“He speaks for me, too,” said Raynor. “We’d do the same thing over
again, if it had to be done.”
“Police and all?” smiled Captain Bracebridge.
“I beg your pardon,” said M. La Farge, re-pocketing the check book. “I
should have known better than to offer money for such a service; no
money could repay it. But I must think of some other way. However, the
first thing to be done is to extricate you from this unpleasant position
and obtain the apologies of the police.”
For a man of M. La Farge’s influence, this was easy to do; and the boys
certainly felt that the humble apology that the little mustached officer
tendered them almost on his knees was due them.
That evening they were the rather embarrassed guests of M. La Farge at
dinner at his home. In order not to make them feel uneasy, there were no
guests outside the immediate family; but both boys had to endure what
was for them quite an ordeal when the pretty Miss La Farge and her
handsome, gray-haired mother thanked them again and again, and almost
wept in apologizing for the action of the police. Then, seeing that the
boys were really troubled by their thanks, they tactfully turned the
subject, and the boys, whose bashfulness soon wore off, enjoyed a jolly
evening. After dinner Miss La Farge, who was an accomplished musician,
played and sang for them, including in her program a medley of American
airs.
As they were leaving, receiving many cordial and pressing invitations to
come again, their host presented each of them with a small flat package.
“A slight remembrance,” he said. “It is inadequate to express the
gratitude of my wife, my daughter and myself, but perhaps it will help
you in recollecting that you always have three warm friends in Belgium.
Do not open them till you reach the ship.”
The boys stammered their thanks and then, after more warm good-nights,
they parted from their kind and grateful hosts. That they walked briskly
to the ship may be imagined. They were on fire with eagerness to see
what the packages contained. They hastened to Jack’s cabin and opened
them, and then gasped with delight. Inside each was a gold watch and
chain; but, more wonderful than this, was the inscription under each
lad’s name, “In grateful and unfading remembrance of the night of ——
from their steadfast friends, the family of M. La Farge.”
“Phew!” exclaimed Jack, mopping his forehead, not altogether on account
of the warmth of the night, “what do you know about that?”
“Nothing,” exclaimed Raynor, “nothing at all! Aren’t they bully! But
let’s see what is in these two flat pocket-books.” In the excitement of
finding the watches, they had not paid much attention to two flat cases
of dark leather enclosed in each package. The books were opened and
found to contain, under isinglass, like a commuter’s ticket in America,
two passes on the government railways, signed by M. La Farge and good
all over the Netherlands.
The boys’ cup of happiness was pressed down and running over.
“Just to think that only a few minutes before we ran into our big
adventure, we were kicking because we had no money to travel,” cried
Jack, as he eyed his engraved pass lovingly. “Now for a few trips!”
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