“And you can go on with all the more confidence, knowing that you have a friend at Court. The King will protect you from your enemies. Only the day before yesterday I happen to know that he gave orders that the police were to take no steps against you without his permission.”
While his lips were yet moving, and as if these words had been a preconcerted signal, a loud whistle sounded outside, the door was violently burst in, and a body of police with drawn staves marched into the hall.
An exciting scene followed. The bulk of those present sprang to their feet and made a wild rush for the doorway, through which some of them escaped, only to fall into the hands of a reserve force stationed in the street outside. Others, more determined, stood their ground, and engaged in a free fight with the officers who attempted to capture them, while the president sat pale and motionless in his chair, waiting to be arrested; and Johann, fairly unmanned under the influence of a feeling of sickening despair, reeled backward and clung for support to the table, while his horrified glance traversed the miserable scene.
Maximilian himself, after the first shock of alarm, stood up quietly to deliver himself into custody, but underneath this apparent calm the fiercest rage possessed him, and he inly swore to make the author of this outrage bitterly repent his disobedience.
A very few minutes sufficed for all resistance to be quelled. The prisoners were handcuffed together in pairs and marched off through the deserted streets, and as night fell Maximilian IV., King of Franconia, found himself the inmate of a cell in his own State prison.
So large was the number of arrests made at the meeting that even the ample accommodation at the disposal of the governor of the prison seemed likely to prove insufficient. Each man, as he passed in through the gates, had his name taken down in a book, and was assigned to a separate cell. When the whole of the vacant cells had been thus allotted, a number of prisoners remained undisposed of.
While the governor was wondering how he was to deal with the surplus, he was relieved to see the Minister of the Interior arrive on the scene.
“Welcome, Herr Moritz!” he exclaimed. “I was just fearing that I might have to send for your Excellency.” And he quickly explained how matters stood.
The Minister stepped up to the governor’s desk—it was in the bureau through which the prisoners were passed on being received into the gaol—and cast his eyes carelessly over the pages of the admission book.
“There is only one thing for it, Herr Governor,” he said, in answer. “You must put them two in a cell.”