"The countersign," I repeated grimly, tightening my grip on his throat, while two of my assistants reinforced my argument by prodding him in the sides with their sticks. "Leeberty--leeberty or deat’,"--Mr. H. Blasius pronounced it "debt"--"zat is ze countersign," he gasped through his constricted windpipe. And assured by his eyes that he was telling the truth, I flung him into the arms of my men. "Shut off his wind if he tries to give a warning," I said, and with a word I picked a squad from my company and gave them brief instructions: "Follow me up the stairs. Don’t make a noise. And when I give the signal push me through the door." A dim illumination filtered through a ground-glass transom at the top of the stairway, and the murmur of voices that floated down gave evidence that a busy meeting was in progress. I walked up the stairs with bold step, and my men crept cautiously after me. At the top was a landing, large enough to hold my squad, and I signed to them to collect behind me. Then I gave three resounding blows on the door--a compelling summons that I had learned as a lawyer’s clerk in serving papers on unwilling defendants. There is some mystic virtue in the slow triple knock that brings the most wary from their holes. At my rap there was a sudden hush of voices. Then some one by the door cried: "Who is there?" "A friend you are expecting." "If you are a friend, give the countersign." "Liberty or Death." At this reply the door opened cautiously for a few inches, and a man peeped through the crack. "Now!" I cried. And with the force of six men behind me I shot forward, flung the door wide open, and sent its guardian sprawling backward, as I was projected a dozen feet into the Council-room. The room was large, and around a large table in front of a pulpit-like platform sat twelve or fifteen men. The Council and its advisers were in session. At my unceremonious entrance the conspirators gave a prompt exhibition of their qualities. Waldorf, Reddick and Seabert sprang to their feet, and their hands went to their pockets with the evident purpose of drawing their revolvers. Others ran from side to side of the room, wildly seeking some way of escape. Two crawled under the table. The rest remained motionless in their chairs, looking with dull apprehension at our sudden irruption. There were more of the conspirators than I had reckoned on meeting. But we had the advantage of surprise, and signing to two of my men to hold the door, I walked calmly forward with the others. "Gentlemen," I said to the startled group, "you are under arrest." "The devil we are!" cried Waldorf, snatching a revolver out of his pocket and snapping it at me.