As Wenzel glanced around he noticed one significant fact. There was not one person looking in the direction of the door. Now was his chance to gain admittance inside without becoming a centre of interest! Once within he believed he might not have to fear discovery; for one thing, they all looked too drunk to notice the presence of a stranger, and, again, even if he were seen, he trusted that the villagers would take him to be one of the Budapest contingent, while the Communists from the city might assume him to belong to the peasants' party. Pulling his cap well over his head, swathing his chin and neck in his dirty scarf, and slouching his shoulders to lessen his height, Wenzel unsteadily crossed the threshold into the midst of the unpleasant company, and sank into a chair while he looked around. Most of them had not yet troubled to take off hats or coats, so he did not remove his either. In front of him he saw a magnificent staircase, wide enough to take twelve men abreast, which led to the upper floor. By the platform was another door through which men staggered in, now and again, food or drink in their hands, so Wenzel assumed that it led to the kitchens. Otherwise, barring the front entrance, through which he himself had entered, he could see no other door. He frowned slightly. He felt that there should be another exit--one by which the servants could make their way into other parts of the house without using either the kitchen or the main staircase. If there was one he did not see it, so he made up his mind to use the stairs, for even as he looked, a Communist stumbled down, holding on to the carved banisters for support. If one could use them, why not another? The _Marseillaise_ finished, the _Internationale_ rang out. There was a burst of enthusiasm, and the noise of the chorus boisterously rolled round the hall with a deafening din. Wenzel rose from his chair, deeming the time a good one to move. He crossed the hall to the staircase. With his foot on the first stair he stopped. Some one was entering the hall by a door just two or three yards to the side of him, a panelled door which swung on its hinges, and had been invisible to him before because it merged into the pattern of the wall. It was decidedly a less conspicuous entrance to the other part of the house. In case he should be observed he slipped and rolled to the floor. When he arose the door was in front of him, so the next second he was on the other side, and at once was conscious of a welcome silence after the noise of the hall. The passage ahead of him was lit only in one place, by a faint light escaping from a room on the right; from a slightly discernible flicker and the soft yellowness of its gleam Wenzel guessed it to be that of an oil lamp.