He was in singular contrast with his superior. He was old and withered. One hand seemed to be shrunken, and his head was permanently crooked to one side. The face was mean and sinister; two fangs alone remained in his mouth; his nose was hooked; the eyes were small, sharp, penetrating and restless; but the expanse of brow above them was grand and noble. It was one of those heads that look as if they had been packed full, and not an inch of space wasted. His person was unclean, however, and the hands and the long finger-nails were black with dirt. I should have picked him out anywhere as a very able and a very dangerous man. He was evidently the vice-president of whom the spy had spoken--the nameless Russian Jew who was accounted "the brains of the Brotherhood." "Gabriel Weltstein," said the giant, in the same stern, loud voice, "each person in this room will now pass before you,--the officers last; and,--under the solemn oath you have taken,--I call upon you to say whether the spy you saw last night in the council-chamber of the Prince of Cabano is among them. But first, let me ask, did you see him clearly, and do you think you will be able to identify him?" "Yes," I replied; "he faced me for nearly thirty minutes, and I should certainly know him if I saw him again." "Brothers," said the president, "you will now------" But here there was a rush behind me. I turned toward the door. Two men were scuffling with a third, who seemed to be trying to break out. There were the sounds of a struggle; then muttered curses; then the quick, sharp report of a pistol. There was an exclamation of pain and more oaths; knives flashed in the air; others rushed pell-mell into the melee; and then the force of numbers seemed to triumph, and the crowd came, dragging a man forward to where I stood. His face was pale as death; the blood, streamed from a flesh wound on his forehead; an expression of dreadful terror glared out of his eyes; he gasped and looked from right to left. The giant had descended from his dais. He strode forward. The wretch was laid at my feet. "Speak," said Cæsar, "is that the man?" "It is," I replied. The giant took another step, and he towered over the prostrate wretch. "Brothers," he asked, "what is your judgment upon the spy?" "Death!" rang the cry from a hundred throats. The giant put his hand in his bosom; there was a light in his terrible face as if he had long waited for such an hour. "Lift him up," he said. Two strong men held the spy by his arms; they lifted him to his feet; he writhed and struggled and shrieked, but the hands that held him were of iron. "Stop!" said the thin, strident voice I had heard before, and the cripple advanced into the circle. He addressed the prisoner: "Were you followed to this place?"