The House of Blazes blinked more furtively than ever on the darkness. The outer door was but half opened, and the lights within burned but dimly. Yet a faint murmur that thrilled the air gave warning of many voices in converse, and stray gleams of light from the shuttered windows above bore ample witness to the fact that there was hidden activity in the den of the revolutionists.
I posted a number of men in position to prevent escape through the windows, and instructed the remainder to await my signal outside the main entrance. Then pushing open the swinging door, I entered the saloon.
The long room was almost deserted. A man in an apparent stupor sat with his head on a table in the dim light at the farther end of the place. Another lay on a bench snoring in drowsy intoxication. A short, round-faced young fellow with a dirty white apron stood behind the bar, and looked up with cheerful expectancy as I entered.
"Take me to the Council," I said peremptorily. "I am just from Mr. Parks."
"The Council!" stammered the man. "I don't--I don't know what you mean."
At the sound of my voice, the fat pasty face of H. Blasius appeared through the doorway at the right of the bar.
"Ah, Meestaire--Meestaire--friend of Park," he said, recognizing me and coming forward. "I salute a brozaire in arms." And he would have embraced me but for my nimbleness in avoiding his odious clutch.
"I have come for orders," I said. "I must see the Council."
"Ah," he cried, "you have come to give your ar-rms to ze inauguration of ze gr-rand r-revolution." And he rolled out his "r's" in a way to make the revolution very grand indeed.
"I have brought more than my arms," I said. "I have the first company of our troops outside."