He was forty-eight years of age, and had reigned since he was twenty-nine.
III
THE FIRING OF THE PISTOL
Johann stepped cautiously towards the door.
Arrived before the keyhole, he put his eye to it. All was dark outside.
“Who are you?” he whispered after a moment’s pause.
The answer came also in a whisper. It seemed to satisfy him. Nodding to his comrades inside to signify that all was right, he quietly unlocked the door.
The man who entered was not a particularly striking figure in himself, but there was that in his appearance which instantly aroused the interest of the four inmates of the room, and caused them to gather eagerly around him.
His clothes were disordered, his face was flushed and bedewed with perspiration, and his short, quick breaths bore witness to the exertion he had made in getting there. But it was not this which arrested the attention of the others. They perceived a nervous excitement in his bearing, and an eager light in his eye, which warned them that he was the bearer of extraordinary tidings.
His first act on entering was to look round and number with a glance the men who stood inside. This done, a sigh of relief escaped him.
“Thank Heaven, I am in time!” he exclaimed.