Clementina

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.