“If Bill and Dick were only here,” he thought to himself, “the matter could be easily come at; but, as it is, I don’t see my way exactly.  I should not like to trust every one, even of the League, with my secret, much less with the execution of such a difficult undertaking as that of placing her there.  I wish I had not sent them after Hadley; I might have accomplished all without that; and it is not the pleasantest thing in the world to have a murder laying on one’s conscience.  But then, I thought other means would succeed:  I had no idea that old Mandeville was becoming so tender-hearted.  The old devil himself must have been playing mischief with my calculations.  Well, let him play away; once Bill and Dick return, and I’ll try my hand at heading his sulphurous majesty, and all others that oppose me.”

In this mood, Duffel found himself when the duties of his office, in the absence of the captain, required his presence at the cave, to preside over the League at the regular meeting, as already known to the reader.  The night of the meeting came, and found him undecided as to the course of action to pursue.  Time was short; the captain might return any day and resume command; and what was to be done must be done soon.

In this state of uncertainty, he repaired to the cave, with the vague and indefinite hope that his associates in crime might be there also.  Arrived there, he began pacing up and down in a state of uneasy and restless disquiet, looking expectantly At every new-comer, but with the same result—­disappointment.  It was but a few minutes until the hour for business, and he retired to the captain’s room to make such preparations as were necessary for the occasion.

When he returned, the members present were all masked, a rule of the order making this a duty at initiating meetings, and he could not tell whether Bill and Dick were among the number or not.

The business proceeded until the question was asked: 

“Is there any one who, having knocked at the door of our order, is now waiting for admission?”

“There is, your honor, Abram Hurd, who has been found worthy of a place among us.”

“Is he present?”

“He is in waiting, your honor.”

“Let him be conducted into the presence of the order.”

It is not our intention to enter into all the details attending the ceremony of initiation into the order, as we apprehend that a few of the leading features in the process of villain-making will be more entertaining and acceptable to the reader.

When the candidate for admission entered the cave, he found himself vis-a-vis with fifty masks, of all shapes, forms and appearances; some horrible, some odd, some commonplace, and some fantastical, and altogether, a medley of strange, undecipherable, yet impressive combination of devices, well calculated to excite a feeling of awe, and, with the timid, of terror, in the mind of the beholder.  Into this singular assemblage Hurd was ushered, a wilderness of confused images before him.  He was taken through a course introductory to the more serious parts of the formula of induction into the order, which were intended to increase the first bewildered impressions on entering the cave, and was then led up in front of the captain, who addressed him thus: