second-rate demagogue or business agent, but
of a man whose intellect and culture rang in every tone, and informed
each sentence.

Sweetwater, in whom satisfaction was fast taking the place of impatience
and regret, pushed the window to before asking George this question:

"Did you hear the voice of the man whose action attracted, your
attention outside the Clermont?"

"No."

"Did you note just now the large shadow dancing on the ceiling over the
speaker's head?"

"Yes, but I could judge nothing from that."

"Well, he's a rum one. I shan't open this window again till he gives
signs of reaching the end of his speech. It's too cold."

But almost immediately he gave a start and, pressing George's arm,
appeared to listen, not to the speech which was no longer audible, but
to something much nearer--a step or movement in the adjoining yard.
At least, so George interpreted the quick turn which this impetuous
detective made, and the pains he took to direct George's attention to
the walk running under the window beneath which they crouched. Someone
was stealing down upon the house at their left, from the alley beyond.
A big man, whose shoulder brushed the window as he went by. George felt
his hand seized again and pressed as this happened, and before he had
recovered from this excitement, experienced another quick pressure and
still another as one, two, three additional figures went slipping by.
Then his hand was suddenly dropped, for a cry had shot up from the door
where the sentinel stood guard, followed by a sudden loud slam, and the
noise of a shooting bolt, which, proclaiming as it did that the invaders
were not friends but enemies to the cause which was being vaunted above,
so excited Sweetwater that he pulled the window wide open and took a
bold look out. George followed his example and this was what they saw:

Three men were standing flat against the fence leading from the shed
directly to the porch. The fourth was crouching within the latter, and
in another moment they heard his fist descend upon the door inside in a
way to rouse the echoes. Meantime, the voice in the audience hall above
had ceased, and there could be heard instead the scramble of hurrying
feet and the noise of overturning benches. Then a window flew up and a
voice called down:

"Who's that? What do you want down there?"

But before an answer could be shouted back, this man was drawn
fiercely inside, and the scramble was renewed, amid which