J. S. Le Fanus Ghostly Tales, Volume 1 | Page 3

he
summoned resolution to leave the room, and, having locked the door
and thrust the key in his pocket, without looking to the right or left, he
traversed the passage which had so recently, perhaps still, contained the
person of his mysterious visitant, scarcely venturing to breathe till he
had arrived in the open street.
"Minheer Vanderhausen!" said Gerard Douw within himself, as the
appointed hour approached, "Minheer Vanderhausen, of Rotterdam! I
never heard of the man till yesterday. What can he want of me? A
portrait, perhaps, to be painted; or a poor relation to be apprenticed; or
a collection to be valued; or--pshaw! there's no one in Rotterdam to
leave me a legacy. Well, whatever the business may be, we shall soon
know it all."
It was now the close of day, and again every easel, except that of
Schalken, was deserted. Gerard Douw was pacing the apartment with
the restless step of impatient expectation, sometimes pausing to glance
over the work of one of his absent pupils, but more frequently placing
himself at the window, from whence he might observe the passengers
who threaded the obscure by-street in which his studio was placed.
"Said you not, Godfrey," exclaimed Douw, after a long and fruitful
gaze from his post of observation, and turning to Schalken, "that the
hour he appointed was about seven by the clock of the Stadhouse?"
"It had just told seven when I first saw him, sir," answered the student.
"The hour is close at hand, then," said the master, consulting a horologe
as large and as round as an orange. "Minheer Vanderhausen from
Rotterdam--is it not so?"
"Such was the name."
"And an elderly man, richly clad?" pursued Douw, musingly.
"As well as I might see," replied his pupil; "he could not be young, nor
yet very old, neither; and his dress was rich and grave, as might become

a citizen of wealth and consideration."
At this moment the sonorous boom of the Stadhouse clock told, stroke
after stroke, the hour of seven; the eyes of both master and student were
directed to the door; and it was not until the last peal of the bell had
ceased to vibrate, that Douw exclaimed----
"So, so; we shall have his worship presently, that is, if he means to
keep his hour; if not, you may wait for him, Godfrey, if you court his
acquaintance. But what, after all, if it should prove but a mummery got
up by Vankarp, or some such wag? I wish you had run all risks, and
cudgelled the old burgomaster soundly. I'd wager a dozen of Rhenish,
his worship would have unmasked, and pleaded old acquaintance in a
trice."
"Here he comes, sir," said Schalken, in a low monitory tone; and
instantly, upon turning towards the door, Gerard Douw observed the
same figure which had, on the day before, so unexpectedly greeted his
pupil Schalken.
There was something in the air of the figure which at once satisfied the
painter that there was no masquerading in the case, and that he really
stood in the presence of a man of worship; and so, without hesitation,
he doffed his cap, and courteously saluting the stranger, requested him
to be seated. The visitor waved his hand slightly, as if in
acknowledgment of the courtesy, but remained standing.
"I have the honour to see Minheer Vanderhausen of Rotterdam?" said
Gerard Douw.
"The same," was the laconic reply of his visitor.
"I understand your worship desires to speak with me," continued Douw,
"and I am here by appointment to wait your commands."
"Is that a man of trust?" said Vanderhausen, turning towards Schalken,
who stood at a little distance behind his master.

"Certainly," replied Gerard.
"Then let him take this box, and get the nearest jeweller or goldsmith to
value its contents, and let him return hither with a certificate of the
valuation."
At the same time, he placed a small case about nine inches square in the
hands of Gerard Douw, who was as much amazed at its weight as at the
strange abruptness with which it was handed to him. In accordance
with the wishes of the stranger, he delivered it into the hands of
Schalken, and repeating his direction, despatched him upon the
mission.
Schalken disposed his precious charge securely beneath the folds of his
cloak, and rapidly traversing two or three narrow streets, he stopped at
a corner house, the lower part of which was then occupied by the shop
of a Jewish goldsmith. He entered the shop, and calling the little
Hebrew into the obscurity of its back recesses, he proceeded to lay
before him Vanderhausen's casket. On being examined by the light of a
lamp, it appeared entirely cased with lead, the outer surface of which
was much scraped and