"Where is Craeke?"

"At the door of your cell, I suppose."

"Let him enter then."

John opened the door; the faithful servant was waiting on
the threshold.

"Come in, Craeke, and mind well what my brother will tell
you."

"No, John; it will not suffice to send a verbal message;
unfortunately, I shall be obliged to write."

"And why that?"

"Because Van Baerle will neither give up the parcel nor burn
it without a special command to do so."

"But will you be able to write, poor old fellow?" John
asked, with a look on the scorched and bruised hands of the
unfortunate sufferer.

"If I had pen and ink you would soon see," said Cornelius.

"Here is a pencil, at any rate."

"Have you any paper? for they have left me nothing."