“It iss so,” replied Mynheer Jacobus, smiling, “und what better could one do?  While you wait, build up the body, because when you build up the body you build up the mind, too, und at the same time it iss a pleasure.”

Robert and Peter ate nothing, but Mynheer Jacobus partook amply of cold beef and game, drank a great glass of home-made beer, and then smoked a long pipe with intense satisfaction.  One o’clock in the morning came, then two, then three, and Mynheer Jacobus, taking the stem of his pipe from his mouth, said: 

“I think it will not be long now before Tayoga iss here.  Long ago he hass either caught hiss man or hiss man hass got away, und he iss returning.  I see hiss shadow now in the shrubbery.  Let him in, Peter.”

Tayoga entered the room, breathing a little more quickly than usual, his dark eyes showing some disappointment.

“It wass not your fault that he got away, Tayoga,” said Mynheer Jacobus soothingly.  “He had too long a start, und doubtless he was fleet of foot.  I think he iss the very kind of man who would be fleet of foot.”

“I had to pick up his trail after he went through the alley,” said Tayoga, “and I lost time in doing so.  When I found it he was out of the main part of the town and in the outskirts, running towards the river.  Even then I might have caught him, but he sprang into the stream and swam with great skill and speed.  When I came upon the bank, he was too far away for a shot from my pistol, and he escaped into the thickets on the other shore.”

“I wish we could have caught him,” said Mynheer Jacobus.  “Then we might have uncovered much that I would like to know.  What iss it, Tayoga?  You haf something more to tell!”

“Before he reached the river,” said the Onondaga, “he tore in pieces a letter, a letter that must have been enclosed in an envelope.  I saw the little white pieces drift away before the wind.  I suppose he was afraid I might catch him, and so he destroyed the letter which must have had a tale to tell.  When I came back I looked for the pieces, but I found only one large enough to bear anything that had meaning.”  He took from his tunic a fragment of white paper and held it up.  It bore upon it two words in large letters: 

“ACHILLE GARAY”

“That,” said Robert, “is obviously the name of a Frenchman, and it seems to me it must have been the name of this fugitive spy or messenger to whom the letter was addressed.  Achille Garay is the man whom we want.  Don’t you think so, Mynheer Huysman?”

“It iss truly the one we would like to capture,” said Mynheer Jacobus, “but I fear that all present chance to do so hass passed.  Still, we will remember.  The opportunity may come again.  Achille Garay!  Achille Garay!  We will bear that name in mind!  Und now, lads, all of you go to bed.  You haf done well, too, Tayoga.  Nobody could haf done better.”

Robert, when alone the next day, met Hendrik Martinus in the street.  Martinus was about to pas? without speaking, but Robert bowed politely and said: