Ferry bowed gravely, and turning the key in the lock, put the former in his pocket. That was the signal of the assembly being complete. He wished his customer good-night, then closing the door, seated himself, to be on the alert in case of any threatened danger.
As each of the conspirators passed through the shop, they ascended a dark winding staircase into the room above; and at the end of the apartment, a window opened upon another light staircase, for flight in case of danger, and which led into a courtyard, and thence into a back street. The windows looking upon Gray’s Inn Road were carefully barred, and the curtains drawn so as to exclude any single ray of light, and talking quietly together were a few grave-looking men, foreigners mostly. Maxwell surveyed the plain-looking apartment, almost bare of furniture, with the exception of a long table covered with green cloth, an inkstand and paper, together with a pack of playing-cards. The artist’s scrutiny and speculations were cut short by the entrance of Le Gautier.
To an actor of his stamp, the change of manner from a light-hearted man of the world to a desperate conspirator was easy enough. He had laid aside his air of levity, and appeared now President of the Council to the life—grave, stern, with a touch of hauteur in his gait, his voice deliberate, and his whole manner speaking of earnest determination of purpose. Maxwell could not but admire the man now, and gave him credit at least for sincerity in this thing.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, in deep sonorous tones, ‘we will commence business, if you please. I shall not detain you long to-night, for I have business of grave importance myself. Will you take your seats?’
The men gathered round the table, drawing up their chairs, Le Gautier at the head, and every eye turned upon him with rapt attention. From an inside pocket he produced a packet of papers and laid them before him. ‘Brothers,’ he asked, ‘what is our first duty to the League?’
‘The removal of tyrants!’ came from every throat there in a kind of deep chorus. ‘And death to traitors!’ added one, low down the board.
‘You are right, my friend,’ Le Gautier continued. ‘That is a duty to which none can yield. I hold evidence in my hand that we have a traitor amongst us—not in the room, I mean, but in our camp. Does any Brother here know Visci, the Deputy at Rome?’
The assembly looked one to the other, though without speaking; and Maxwell noted the deathly pallor upon Salvarini’s face, wondering what brought it there. The President repeated the question, and looked round again, as if waiting for some one to speak.
‘Yes, I know him. He was my friend,’ Salvarini observed in melancholy tones. ‘Let us hear what his fault is.’
‘He is a traitor to the Order,’ Le Gautier continued; ‘and as such, he must die. His crime is a heavy one,’ he went on, looking keenly at Maxwell: ‘he has refused to obey a mandate of the Three.’