"No. While Bela lies above ground, we want no third here. When he is buried, I may call upon you for a special to watch my room door. But it's of outside protection we're talking now. Only, who is to protect me against your men?"
"What do you mean by that, your honour?"
"They are human, are they not? They have instincts of curiosity like the rest of us. How can I be made sure that they won't yield to the temptation of their position and climb the fences they are detailed to guard?"
"And would this be so fatal to your peace, judge?" A smile tempered the suggestion.
"It would be a breach of trust which would greatly disturb me. I want nobody on my grounds, nobody at all. Has not my long life of solitude within these walls sufficiently proved this? I want to feel that these men of yours would no more climb my fence than they would burst into my house without a warrant."
"Judge, I will be one of the men. You can trust me."
"Thank you, sergeant; I appreciate the favour. I shall rest now as quietly as any man can who has met with a great loss. The coroner's inquiry has decided that the injuries which Bela received in the street were of a fatal character and would have killed him within an hour, even if he had not exhausted his strength in the effort he made to return to his home and die in my presence. But I shall always suffer from regret that I was not in a condition to receive his last sigh. He was a man in a thousand. One seldom sees his like among white or black."
"He was a very powerfully built man. It took a sixty horse-power racing machine, going at a high rate of speed, to kill him."
A spasm of grief or unavailing regret crossed the judge's face as his head sank back again against the high back of his chair.
"Enough," said he; "tread softly when you go by the sofa on which he lies. Will you fill your glass again, sergeant?"