“Stay, stay one moment,” cried Dumiger, as the stranger was about to leave the cell, “who told you so much about me?  How did you obtain this list of debts?  How came you to hear of Marguerite, and Carl, and Krantz?  Surely,” and he passed his hand across his brow like a man who is pained by the intensity of a ray of light after having been long in darkness—­“tell me before you go, what does this mean?” And he caught a firm hold of the man’s cloak.

“There is no reason why I should not tell you the truth now,” said he, buttoning his coat tightly over the papers.  “I was sent for by the Grand Master, who engaged me to obtain the sale of your clock at any price.  And he gave me good inducements to undertake the job.”

The whole scheme broke on Dumiger’s mind.

“And with what object?” he gasped forth; “tell me that.”

“To get rid of your competition,” said the man quietly.  “After yours there is no doubt that his son’s is the best; and, therefore, when yours is sold to Hambro’, his will be prized in Dantzic.  As for me, I shall get rewarded for my exertions, both by the Grand Master your noble count, and my own city.  Here is the truth of the matter,” said he; “now let me go.”

“Let you go, miscreant!” exclaimed Dumiger, “never, until you return me that paper.  Let you go!  I will follow you to death rather.  You betrayed me into this act; it was not my own free will.  I am the victim of the basest conspiracy.  I have been induced to sell my birthright—­I prefer to remain in prison—­I love my townspeople—­I will not be free on these conditions!  Give me back my bond!”

“Never!” said the man, putting himself into an attitude of defense.

And he did wisely, for there was desperation in Dumiger’s eye.  He waited a moment, and then with a maniac’s strength he flew at the man, but he found a powerful and vigorous antagonist.  The stranger, who had appeared half decrepit and aged, rose up in all the strength of youth.  In a moment he had grasped Dumiger’s arms, very coolly taken out a handkerchief, and in spite of all Dumiger’s efforts bound his hands together.  After he had performed this operation he drew the document again from his pocket, so as to be well assured that it was correctly signed, and smiled as he said to Dumiger—­

“You know that signature?”

“Scoundrel! miscreant!” were the only words to which Dumiger could give utterance.

“And now, fellow-citizen,” said the man, “I bid you farewell.  Keep your temper; these sober arts should have taught you this kind of self-command.  You will soon be free.  As for your arms, I dare not untie them now, but I will send the guard to you.  Now, holloa, guard without there!” and he left the cell.