If Wenzel had hoped to create pandemonium he had undoubtedly achieved success. Presently the clamour subsided, and once more all eyes were turned in the direction of Wenzel, who continued to stand upon his feet, but only with an effort. He swayed to and fro, his eyes blinked and watered under the cap which was crushed down over them. They could see only the lower part of his face, and that but indistinctly, for the scarf which was wound round his neck and chin reached as high as his lower lip. Wenzel laughed gutturally. "What--what use shouting, comrades? Apor will not die. White Knight will rescue." His speech became more indistinct, and his audience feared that he would collapse in a drunken stupor before his story was finished. Some one dexterously removed the half-finished bottle from the table. At the same time this last statement was received incredulously. Some one remonstrated: "Yah! Yah! You talk loudly, my friend. How could anyone rescue Apor? Is he not in prison?" "Apor in prison." Wenzel laughed, and the saliva dribbled from the corners of his mouth. "Of course. He is in Parliament--cells. Yet White Knight will rescue. Easy enough." "Bah! I know the Parliament House cells, and I say that not even the White Knight could rescue anyone from them." Wenzel wagged a remonstrating finger. "Yes, he could, just same I could." There was a roar of laughter, and Wenzel frowned. "Tell us then," his hearers shouted, but Wenzel shook his head. "You might tell Bela Kun--I hang--keep my secrets--myself." His talk was incoherent, the interest of the others began to lessen. They had obtained all the news they could from him, and now they wanted none of his drunken babblings and theories of impossible rescue. Yet there was one who leaned forward, eyes gleaming interestedly. Gunzi knew well the potent influence of drink: in his time he had secured many a guarded secret from a man "liquored up" to a degree of nicety, and Gunzi, reading the signs, was convinced that the man to whom he had been listening had reached that stage. He moved his chair over to Wenzel's table: "Sit down, my friend, and tell me. I am interested." Obediently Wenzel collapsed on to his chair, then glared malignantly at the detective: "Why should--tell you and not--not--not other people?" Gunzi shrugged his shoulders. "They are fools, they would believe anything. Myself, I would not. I ask you to tell me so that I can point out to you how impossible would be your plan." For a moment he believed the Devil had been raised in the other man, for Wenzel shot out a clawing hand which searched for the detective's throat, while Gunzi shrank back, his small rat-face paling, but the effort was too much for Wenzel. His arm relaxed, fell heavily upon the table, and his head followed suit.