There was only one man there—obviously the same I had followed—and he was staring hard at us with an expression of mingled fear and expectation. It was Paul Drexel. He was shaved, and disguised in the shabby clothes of a beggar; but I knew his flabby coward’s face in a moment, although he did not recognize me. And I took care that he should see my face as little as possible. For an instant the question flashed upon me: What Drexel was doing in the affair? But I had to act, not think, because if my supposition was correct, we should soon have more of the men upon us.
There was no longer any reason for fear. With no one but a fat coward like Drexel and the man with the light to oppose me, I should soon find a way out of things.
“Who are you?” asked Drexel, as I entered.
“I am here to take command,” I replied, muffling my voice. I turned to the other man and asked: “What part of the house are we in? How do we get where we have to go?”
“These are the cellars. They didn’t think of them,” he replied, with a grin of cunning.
“Show me,” and I made him light the way for me.
My examination of the place revealed nothing but bare cellars.
My guide pointed out a flight of stairs, and explained that there was only a door at the top, which would not be difficult to force.
My first step was to get rid of him; and as he was now quite unsuspicious of me, this was easy.
I found that one of the cellars had a door with bolts on the outside, and as we stood in it, I made an excuse to take the light from him, and catching him unawares, I gave him a blow on the side of the head which sent him staggering over the floor, and before he could recover himself I had shut the door and bolted it upon him.