“What is the information that brings you here?”
Suddenly old Adelbert wept, terrible tears that forced their way from his faded eyes, and ran down his cheeks. “I cannot, Excellencies!” he cried. “I find I cannot.”
He collapsed into the chair, and throwing his arms across the table bowed his head on them. His shoulders heaved under his old uniform. The Committee stirred, and the concierge caught him brutally by the wrist.
“Up with you!” he said, from clenched teeth. “What stupidity is this? Would you play with death?”
But old Adelbert was beyond fear. He shook his head. “I cannot,” he muttered, his face hidden.
Then the concierge stood erect and folded his arms across his chest. “He is terrified, that is all,” he said. “If the Committee wishes, I can tell them of this matter. Later, he can be interrogated.”
The leader nodded.
“By chance,” said the concierge, “this—this brave veteran”—he glanced contemptuously at the huddled figure in the chair, “has come across an old passage, the one which rumor has said lay under the city wall, and for which we have at different times instituted search.”
He paused, to give his words weight. That they were of supreme interest could be told by the craning forward of the Committee.
“The entrance is concealed at the base of the old Gate of the Moon. Our friend here followed it, and reports it in good condition. For a mile or thereabouts it follows the line of the destroyed wall. Then it turns and goes to the Palace itself.”