"'Who is there?' said a voice inside.
"'God and Napoleon and the Dumpling strike with granite arm!' was the reply, and the door was immediately opened, the Dumpling and I stepping inside. We were in the narrow hall or passage of a small dwelling house. The man who had admitted us closed the door, and then resumed his chair, which was placed just inside the door. A newspaper which he had been reading lay beside him on the floor, and two small paraffin lamps burned—or, rather, smoked—beside him on another chair.
"'All quiet, doorkeeper?' asked the Dumpling.
"'All quiet, sir,' was the answer.
"Then the Dumpling took up one of the lamps.
"'This way, Rissler,' he said, walking along the passage, till he came to a door leading to the basement or kitchen portion of the house. Producing a bunch of keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door, and when he and I had passed through, locked it carefully again.
"Passing down some stairs, we came to a stone-flagged passage, along which we walked to another door, leading to a sort of underground cellar. This door the Dumpling also unlocked, and, after we had entered, re-locked; and as he did so, the dream-picture which I had once seen in his eyes, the picture of the Dumpling, myself, and a third and unknown man, standing together in an underground room, came back to me, and I knew that the place I was now in was the place I had seen in the tableau.
"Then the Dumpling touched a spring, and a hidden door flew open, revealing a smaller inner room. A man, nonchalantly smoking a cigar, was standing in a far corner, and as, obeying the Dumpling's signal, I passed through the door and saw his face, I gave a short, sharp cry, and fell back in incredulous horror.
"'My God!' I said. 'It is not possible! The King!'"