Wogan changed his mind at the words; he did not get up. On the contrary,
he filled his pipe a second time very thoughtfully. He had stayed too
long in the room, it seemed; the little staircase was, after all, likely
to prove of no service. He did not betray himself by any start or
exclamation, he did not even look up, but bending his head over his pipe
he thought over the disposition of the room. The fireplace was on his
right; the door was opposite to him; the window in the wall at his left.
The window was high from the ground and at some distance. On the other
hand, he had certain advantages. He was in a corner, he had the five men
in front of him, and between them and himself stood a solid table. A
loaded pistol was in his belt, his sword hung at his side, and his
hunting knife at his waist. Still the aspect of affairs was changed.
"Five men," thought he, "upon a narrow staircase are merely one man who
has to be killed five times, but five men in a room are five
simultaneous assailants. I need O'Toole here, I need O'Toole's six feet
four and the length of his arm and the weight of him--these things I
need--but are there five or only four?" And he was at once aware that
the two men at the fire had ceased to talk of their business. No one,
indeed, was speaking at all, and no one so much as shuffled a foot.
Wogan raised his head and proceeded to light his pipe; and he saw that
all the five men were silently watching him, and it seemed to him that
those five pairs of eyes were unnaturally bright.
However, he appeared to be entirely concerned with his pipe, which,
however hard he puffed at it, would not draw. No doubt the tobacco was
packed too tight in the bowl. He loosened it, and when he had loosened
it the pipe had gone out. He fumbled in his pocket and discovered in the
breast of his coat a letter. This letter he glanced through to make sure
that it was of no importance, and having informed himself upon the point
he folded it into a long spill and walked over to the hearth.
The five pairs of eyes followed his movements. He, however, had no
attention to spare. He bent down, lit his spill in the flame, and
deliberately lighted his pipe. The tobacco rose above the rim of the
bowl like a head of ale in a tankard. Wogan, still holding the burning
spill in his right hand, pressed down the tobacco with the little finger
of his left, and lighted the pipe again. By this time his spill had
burned down to his fingers. He dropped the end into the fire and walked
back to his seat. The five pairs of eyes again turned as he turned. He
stumbled at a crack in the floor, fell against the table with a clatter
of his sword, and rolled noisily into his seat. When he sat down a
careful observer might have noticed that his pistol was now at full
cock.