I could penetrate and the
spring lock of the door had been closed. There were no traces to show
who was my companion in misfortune. Closing the two loose planks behind
me I returned to my own cell and waited there with all the courage which
I could command for the summons which would probably be my death knell.

It was a long time in coming, but at last I heard the sound of feet once
more in the passage, and I nerved myself to listen to some other odious
deed and to hear the cries of the poor victim. Nothing of the kind
occurred, however, and the prisoner was placed in the cell without
violence. I had no time to peep through my hole of communication, for
next moment my own door was flung open and my rascally gondolier, with
the other assassins, came into the cell.

"Come, Frenchman," said he. He held his blood-stained knife in his
great, hairy hand, and I read in his fierce eyes that he only looked for
some excuse in order to plunge it into my heart. Resistance was useless.
I followed without a word. I was led up the stone stair and back into
that gorgeous chamber in which I had left the secret tribunal. I was
ushered in, but to my surprise it was not on me that their attention
was fixed. One of their own number, a tall, dark young man, was standing
before them and was pleading with them in low, earnest tones. His
voice quivered with anxiety and his hands darted in and out or writhed
together in an agony of entreaty. "You cannot do it! You cannot do it!"
he cried.

"I implore the tribunal to reconsider this decision."

"Stand aside, brother," said the old man who presided.

"The case is decided and another is up for judgment."

"For Heaven's sake be merciful!" cried the young man.

"We have already been merciful," the other answered.

"Death would have been a small penalty for such an offence. Be silent
and let judgment take its course."

I saw the young man throw himself in an agony of grief into his chair. I
had no time, however, to speculate as to what it was which was troubling
him, for his eleven colleagues had already fixed their stern eyes upon
me.

The moment of fate had arrived.

"You are Colonel Gerard?" said the terrible old man.

"I am."

"Aide-de-camp to the robber who calls himself General Suchet, who in
turn represents that arch-robber Buonaparte?"

It was on my lips to tell him that he was a liar, but there is a time to
argue and a time to be silent.

"I am an honourable soldier," said