The Murderers

           Theyoungmanwithhishatslouchedoverhiseyes,stillleaningonthearmoftheofficer,andstillwipingfromtimetotimehisbrowwithhishandkerchief,waswatchinginacorneroftheBuytenhof,intheshadeoftheoverhangingweather-boardofaclosedshop,thedoingsoftheinfuriatedmob,aspectaclewhichseemedtodrawnearitscatastrophe.

           “Indeed,”saidhetotheofficer,“indeed,Ithinkyouwereright,VanDeken;theorderwhichthedeputieshavesignedistrulythedeath-warrantofMasterCornelius.Doyouhearthesepeople?TheycertainlybearasadgrudgetothetwoDeWitts.”

           “Intruth,”repliedtheofficer,“Ineverheardsuchshouts.”

           “Theyseemtohavefoundoutthecelloftheman.Look,look!isnotthatthewindowofthecellwhereCorneliuswaslockedup?”

           AmanhadseizedwithbothhandsandwasshakingtheironbarsofthewindowintheroomwhichCorneliushadleftonlytenminutesbefore.

           “Halloa,halloa!”themancalledout,“heisgone.”

           “Howisthat?gone?”askedthoseofthemobwhohadnotbeenabletogetintotheprison,crowdedasitwaswiththemassofintruders.

           “Gone,gone,”repeatedthemaninarage,“thebirdhasflown.”

           “Whatdoesthismansay?”askedhisHighness,growingquitepale.

           “Oh,Monseigneur,hesaysathingwhichwouldbeveryfortunateifitshouldturnouttrue!”

           “Certainlyitwouldbefortunateifitweretrue,”saidtheyoungman;“unfortunatelyitcannotbetrue.”

           “However,look!”saidtheofficer.