get you under, and to force you to confess your crimes.”
“Are you mad, my dear Master Gryphus?” asked Cornelius.
And as he now for the first time observed the frenzied features, the flashing eyes, and foaming mouth of the old jailor, he said,—
“Bless the man, he is more than mad, it seems, he is furious.”
Gryphus flourished his stick above his head, but Van Baerle moved not, and remained standing with his arms akimbo.
“It seems your intention to threaten me, Master Gryphus.”
“Yes, indeed, I threaten you,” cried the jailor.
“And with what?”
“First of all, look what I have in my hand.”
“I think that’s a stick,” said Cornelius calmly, “but I don’t suppose you will threaten me with that.”
“Oh, you don’t suppose-oh! why not?”
“Because any jailor who strikes a prisoner is liable to two penalties; the first laid down in Article 9, of the regulations at Lœvestein:—
“‘Any jailor, inspector, or turnkey, who lays hand upon a prisoner of State, will be dismissed.’”
“Yes, who lays hands,” said Gryphus, mad with rage, “but there is not a word about a stick, in the regulation.”
“And the second,” continued Cornelius, which is not written in the regulation, but which is to be found elsewhere,—
“Whosoever takes up the stick will be thrashed by the stick.”
Gryphus, growing more and more exasperated by the calm and sententious tone of Cornelius, brandished his
