"Drop on your knees," he said. "I want to tell you something."

"You think it is high time I said my prayers--eh, what?"

Yet the younger man obeyed, since there was a calm authority in the
pinched and wrinkled face raised to his that seemed to despise the
uproar of the mob. Felix was singularly unmoved by the bestial din. He
evidently cared naught for the continuous shooting from street and
houses, or the renewed outburst on the stairs that welcomed the arrival
of axes and sledge hammers rifled from a neighboring shop.

"Pay heed to what I am going to say," he muttered, bringing his mouth
close to Beaumanoir's ear, "I don't wish Joan or the King to know what
we are doing. They will be wise after the event, not before, which is
often the better part of wisdom. Have you a steady hand? Will you flinch
if I ask you to destroy every man on the other side of that door?"

Beaumanoir twisted his head round and grinned. "If asking will do the
trick, try me!" said he.

Felix took from an inner pocket of his coat a gunmetal cigarcase. He
pressed a spring, and the lid flew open. Inside were four cigar shaped
cylinders, each studded with a number of tiny knobs. He withdrew a
cylinder, and from a small cup in its base obtained six percussion caps,
which he proceeded to adjust on the iron nipples.

"My own patent!" he exclaimed, with an air of pride that was grotesque
under the conditions. "Each cigar is a bomb, warranted to clear any
ordinary room of its occupants. It does not discriminate. It will
dismember the most exalted personages."

"By gad!" ejaculated Beaumanoir, shrinking away slightly.

Felix pressed closer in his enthusiasm. "The point carrying the
detonators is loaded with lead. If properly handled, it is sure to fly
with that end in front. You take it between your thumb and second
finger, thus, and poise it by placing the tip of the first finger behind
it, thus; but you must throw hard, and wait until the upper part of the
door is smashed, and you can fling it clear, or three ounces of dynamite
will explode in front of your nose, with disastrous effect. I will have
a second bomb ready if the first one fails; but it will not."

"By gad!" said Beaumanoir again, gazing at the deadly contrivance as if
fascinated by it. He could retreat no farther, being jammed against the
sideboard.

"Do you understand?" demanded Felix coolly.

"Perfectly. Is it--er--Russian or Spanish?"

"Neither. I call it the International.