On opening the door I found one of the members of the previous night's
meeting, the taciturn hero of the potato tragedy.

"It's rather early to disturb you," he began, "but I came to let you know
that last night, after you had all gone, Comrades Banter and O'Flynn were
arrested."

"Arrested!" I exclaimed, as yet unused to such incidents; "why, what on
earth are they charged with?"

"Well," answered Carter, "the charge is not yet very clear, but so far as
we can understand, it is in some way connected with the Myers business.
They are charged with manufacturing explosives, or something of the sort.
The fact is, the police and Jacob Myers are at the bottom of the whole
matter, and Banter, O'Flynn, and Augustin have all played into their
hands."

"Come in here," I interrupted, leading the way to the dining-room. "Let
us sit down and talk the matter over together;" and we entered, Carter
casting a distinctly disapprobatory glance at the "bourgeois luxury" of
this apartment.

As soon as we were seated my companion returned to the question of the
moment. "I fear," he said, "that it is rather a serious affair for the
comrades. That Myers is a police emissary there can no longer be any
reasonable doubt, and the death of his brother is clear proof that he has
not been wasting his time lately. And it is only too likely that the same
hand which provided Augustin with explosives may have placed similar
material in the possession of Banter and O'Flynn."