A New Prisoner Arrives

It was far past midnight when King was roused from the doze into which he had fallen, exhausted and disconsolate, an hour earlier. Sounds of unusual commotion reached him from the outer room. Instantly he was wide awake, breathing heavily in the sudden overpowering fear that he had slept for many hours and that the time had come for the conspirators to go forth. Was it the 26th?

Loud, quick commands came to his ears; the moving of eager footsteps; the drawing of bolts.

"They are here at last," he heard some one say. "God, this suspense has been horrible. But they are here."

"Stand ready, then, with the guns!" cried Peter Brutus. "It may be a trick, after all. Don't open that door down there, Spantz, until you know who is on the outside."

Then followed a long interval of dead silence.

"It's all right," came at last in the relieved, eager voice of Peter Brutus. "Clear the way, comrades. Give them room! By our Holy Father, this is a brave triumph. Ah!"

Heavy footsteps clogged into the room, accompanied by stertorous breathing and no small amount of grunting from masculine throats. Doors were closed, bolts shot, and then many voices let loose their flow of eager exclamations. Not one, but three or four languages were spoken by the excited, intense occupants of the outer room; King could, make nothing of what they said. Finally the sharp, incisive voice of William Spantz broke through the babble, commanding silence.