His preliminary was brief.  A phrase or two of flattery and acknowledgment to those on the platform supporting him dismissed that.  Then he passed on to the objects in view.  In five minutes he had dismissed also the ultimate destiny of the mills, and the manner in which the Workers were to benefit by its administration.  Then he flung himself into a fiery denunciation of all capitalists, and particularly those who had dared to employ his audience on good wages for something like fifteen years.  That completed he passed on to the plans for taking over the mills forthwith.

During the earlier part of his address the audience listened with grave attention.  Here and there little outbursts of applause punctuated his sentences.  But when he came to the task which had been set for that night a deathly silence prevailed everywhere.  The intensity was added to rather than broken by the harsh clearing of throats that came from almost every part of the hall.

“The whole thing needs cleaning up before daylight,” he hurled at them.  “Our organisation is complete.  Here,” and he indicated the table nearby littered with papers and surrounded by four or five men who were members of the elected Soviet, “we have the lists of the names of every comrade, and the numbers of men to be used in every detail of the work before us.  They have been carefully drawn up with a view to the task required to be put through.  Some tasks will be simple.  Some will be less so.”  A grim light that was almost a smile shone in his black eyes.  “But we have carefully discriminated in our personnel.  That is as it should be.  There will be certain bloodshed.  Knowing the temperament and preparations of your late masters this seems to be inevitable.  But again we have provided.  Our greatest and most important task is the possession of the power station, and for the capture of that we have machine guns which will quickly reduce the enemy to capitulation.  The strength of the enemy we know to the last fraction—­”

“Do you?”

The challenge came from the back of the hall.  It came in a quiet, refined voice that swept through the hall with the cold cut of a knife.  Someone had risen from a sitting position on a table.  He stood up.  It was the tall, dark figure of Father Adam clad in a garment which enveloped him from head to foot like the black cassock of a priest.

“Do you?” he cried again, as the startled leader stared stupidly at the interrupter.

Every eye turned to the back of the hall on the instant.  The men on the platform looked up from their work to witness the daring of one who could interrupt the elected leader of the people.  One man, slight, foreign-looking, who had been seated at the back of the platform stood up and leant against the wall.