Suddenly Reggio awoke. His bloodstained knife appeared once more in his hand, and he flourished it above his head.
“Let them come, then!” he cried. “If we all die, we’ll do what we can to destroy the Ten who have a hundred poor Venetians beneath their feet!”
“That’s the talk!” said Dick, whose face was flushed and whose eyes gleamed, “To the stairs, Reggio! Let Teresa hold the light, that we may see. There will be some broken heads before they do the job they have blocked out.”
“Talk about Texas!” burst from Brad. “Why, Texas is a Sunday-school picnic all the time compared with Venice! The wild and woolly West won’t seem half so wild and woolly to me if I ever get back to it.”
Teresa was brave. She caught up the candle, and said she was ready. As they hurried from the room to the stairs, the door fell with a sound of splintered wood.
“Just in time!” exclaimed Dick, hearing many voices and the sound of feet at the foot of the stairs.
They reached the head of the flight. Teresa was close at hand, and she held the candle as high as she could reach, in order that its light might shine down those stairs.
At the bottom of the flight were a number of men—not less than six or seven. They paused as the light revealed them.
Reggio Tortora gave a shout of astonishment.
“They are not the Ten!” he declared. “The Ten are always in cloaks and hoods.”