“There are some in Warsaw who are of opinion that Augustus of Saxony has done much harm to Poland, in engaging without cause in the war against Charles of Sweden, and who think that it would be well that he should be dethroned, and some other prince made king in his place.  To this party many of the traders belong, and the Jew had reason to think that I was acquainted with the design, and could give the names of those concerned in it.  There was really no plot against Augustus, but it was only intended that a popular demonstration against his rule should be made.  But Soloman wanted me to give evidence that there was a conspiracy against the king’s life, so that he might gain great credit by exposing it, and might at the same time rid himself of many of his rivals in the trade.”

“He was an artful fox,” the leader of the brigands said, when this had been translated to him.  “But where is the Jew he put over you?”

Three or four of the men sprang to their feet and ran out, but the Jew was nowhere to be seen.  The captain was furious, and abused his men right and left, while his anger was in no way mitigated when one of them told him that, if he had wanted the Jew kept, he should have given one of them orders to look after him.  This was so evident that the chief was silenced for a moment.

“How long is it since any of you saw him last?”

“He went round with the wineskin, and filled our cups just as we sat down to breakfast,” one of the men said.  “I have not noticed him since.”

Nor had any of the others.

“Then it will be no use to pursue.  He has had more than half an hour’s start, and long before this he will have mounted Ben Soloman’s horse, and have ridden off.

“Well, comrade,” he said, turning to Charlie, “this settles your movements.  I was but half in earnest before as to your joining us; but it is clear now that there’s nothing else for you to do, for the present.  This fellow will, directly he gets to Warsaw, denounce you as the murderer of his master.  That he is sure to do to avert suspicion from himself, and, if you were to return there, it would go hard with you.  So, for a time, you must throw in your lot with us.”

When this was translated to Charlie, he saw at once the force of the argument.  He could not have denied that the Jew had fallen in a hand-to-hand struggle with himself, and, were he to appear in Warsaw, he might be killed by the co-religionists of Ben Soloman; or, if he escaped this, might lie in a dungeon for months awaiting his trial, and perhaps be finally executed.  There was nothing for him now but to rejoin the Swedes, and it would be some time, yet, before he would be sufficiently recovered to undertake such a journey.

“I should not mind, if I could send a letter to Allan Ramsay, to tell him what has befallen me.  He will be thinking I am dead, and will, at any rate, be in great anxiety about me.”

“I have taken a liking to you, young fellow,” the leader said, “and will send in one of my men to Warsaw with a letter; that is, if you can write one.”