The move was successful.

Each man followed suit, and the whole party, kicking back their chairs, revolved with lurching steps round the _debris_ of empty bottles and cigar ashes.
The room was thick with smoke, and redolent of fumes of wine.
Mechanically I led the chorus, straining every nerve to hear a sound from outside.

I was growing dizzy with the movement, and, overwrought with the strain on my nerves.

I knew a few minutes more would be the limit of endurance, when at last I heard a loud shout and tumult of voices.
"What's that ?" exclaimed the major, in thick tones, pausing as he spoke.
I dropped his hand, and, seizing my revolver, said: "Some drunken row in barracks, major.

Let 'em alone." "I must go," he said.