He was rather longer than Olga Loschek had been in comprehending his surroundings. His old eyes at first saw little but the table and its candles in their gruesome holders. But when he saw the Committee his heart failed. Here, embodied before him, was everything he had loathed during all his upright and loyal years anarchy, murder, treason. His face worked. The cords in his neck stood out like strings drawn to the breaking-point.
The concierge was speaking. For all his boasting, he was ill at ease. His voice had lost its bravado, and had taken on a fawning note.
“This is the man of whom word was sent to the Committee,” he said. “I ventured to ask that he be allowed to come here, because he brings information of value.”
“Step forward, comrade,” said the leader. “What is your name and occupation?”
“Adelbert, Excellency. As to occupation, for years I was connected with the Opera. Twenty years, Excellency. Then I grew old, and another--” His voice broke. What with excitement and terror, he was close to tears. “Now I am reduced to selling tickets for an American contrivance, a foolish thing, but I earn my bread by it.”
He paused, but the silence continued unbroken. The battery of eyes behind the masks was turned squarely on him.
Old Adelbert fidgeted. “Before that, in years gone by, I was in the army,” he said, feeling that more was expected of him, and being at a loss. “I fought hard, and once, when I suffered the loss you perceive, the King himself came to my bed, and decorated me. Until lately, I have been loyal. Now, I am--here.” His face worked.
“What is the information that brings you here?”
Suddenly old Adelbert wept, terrible tears that forced their way from his faded eyes, and ran down his cheeks. “I cannot, Excellencies!” he cried. “I find I cannot.”
He collapsed into the chair, and throwing his arms across the table bowed his head on them. His shoulders heaved under his old uniform. The Committee stirred, and the concierge caught him brutally by the wrist.
“Up with you!” he said, from clenched teeth. “What stupidity is this? Would you play with death?”
But old Adelbert was beyond fear. He shook his head. “I cannot,” he muttered, his face hidden.
Then the concierge stood erect and folded his arms across his chest. “He is terrified, that is all,” he said. “If the Committee wishes, I can tell them of this matter. Later, he can be interrogated.”