The hall was well filled when they arrived. There was a rostrum, on which two wooden benches faced a table and a chair in the centre. On the table stood a pitcher of drinking water, a soiled glass, and a jug full of red carnations.
A dozen men and women occupied the two benches. 153 At the table a man sat writing. He held a lighted cigar in one hand; a red silk handkerchief trailed from his coat pocket.
As Ilse and Palla seated themselves on an empty bench and Shotwell found a place beside them, somebody on the next bench beyond leaned over and bade them good evening in a low voice.
“Mr. Brisson!” exclaimed Palla, giving him her hand in unfeigned pleasure.
Brisson shook hands, also, with Ilse, cordially, and then was introduced to Jim.
“What are you doing here?” he inquired humorously of Palla. “And, by the way,”––dropping his voice––“these Reds don’t exactly love me, so don’t use my name.”
Palla nodded and whispered to Jim: “He secured all that damning evidence at the Smolny for our Government.”
Brisson and Ilse were engaged in low-voiced conversation: Palla ventured to look about her.