Already the indefatigable Andrea had roused my two watch dogs. Adolf and Gunter came in, cursing softly, but with their weapons, and we held a hasty council-of-war. The information which Andrea had wormed out of an over-talkative serving-maid gave no clear notion of the nature of the attack, but we could guess its method. To penetrate to the apartments of Dr. Luther from the side of the house fronting upon the street would necessitate forcing several well-barred doors, and was to the last degree impossible. But on the other side his windows opened upon a small garden surrounded by a wall readily scaled by active men, and behind this wall ran a dark narrow alley giving the easiest imaginable access. Our deliberations were brief and effective. Leaving my second valet and Adolf’s nephew, a tall, burly Regensteiner, to guard the inner house, the rest of us took our way quietly by a back passage to the little garden where a few bushes in the corner made a sufficient covert against the wall. We were armed; even the pacific Amsdorf, who was no feeble man physically, had accepted a sabre and pistol. I was similarly accoutered, but Andrea insisted that I pull on my ring mail of proof, a splendid piece of Florentine armorer’s craft, that made me almost as impregnable as Achilles. Andrea himself had only his long stiletto, but I knew he could use that to greater effect than a Moor his scimitar. As for Gunter and Adolf, in addition to their ponderous swords, they tugged along arquebuses crammed with enough bullets to mow down a small army. In silence we took our stations; they whispered briefly as to our respective parts in the impending drama. Nothing was left but the most trying part of the ordeal, silence.