The assassination of the little Prince and the overthrow of the royal family awaited his pleasure: he was the man who would give the word.
Not until he was ready could anything be done, for Marlanx had promised to put the Committee of Ten in control of this pioneer community when it came under the dominion of anarchists.
Alas, for the Committee of Ten! The wiliest fox in the history of the world was never so wily as the Iron Count.

Some day they were to find out that he was using them to pull his choicest chestnuts from the fire.
The Committee was seated around the long table in the stifling, breathless room, the armourer at the head.

Those who came by way of the sewer had performed ablutions in the queer toilet room that once had been a secret vault for the storing of feudal plunder.

What air there was came from the narrow ventilator that burrowed its ways up to the shop of William Spantz, or through the chimney-hole in the ceiling.
Olga Platanova sat far down the side, a moody, inscrutable expression in her dark eyes.

She sat silent and oppressed through all the acrid, bitter discussions which carried the conclave far past the midnight hour.