They stood side by side in the open, heedless of the rain, while shelter in the shape of the sidewalks of the Central Way was within a few yards of them.
The searchlight from the balloon still swept about the grounds, but the fireworks were finished.
“You shall come with me and see a ghost,” insisted Carpentaria angrily and obstinately, “or I will make such a scandal in this place as will go far to ruin it. Let me tell you that I know a great deal more than you think. I am in a position, for example, to ask you, Ilam, whether you spend your nights in bed or wandering about the grounds carrying mysterious burdens.”
A group of visitors hurried past them.
“What do you mean?” muttered Ilam. “I—you must be going off your head.”
“Doubtless I’m a madman, eh? Well, come along with the madman.”
Ilam sighed. They passed into the Central Way, and had to fight for progress against the multitudes that crowded the footpaths. No one recognized them.
“I wish we could understand each other,” said Ilam.
“We shall, rest assured of that,” returned Carpentaria. “In quite a few minutes we shall understand each other, or I am mistaken, and it may be you that will have to leave this City—and with considerably less than fifty thousand a year, my friend.” He pictured the moment when he should confront Ilam with the man whose corpse Ilam had buried. Vistas opened out before him. He saw the tables completely turned; he saw himself sole master of the City, and the wielder of such power over Ilam as would enforce obedience to his wishes. Then there would be no more insulting requests to abandon his music, no more ridiculous suggestions, and no fear of foolishness on the part of Juliette. It astonished him that he had not realized before the enormous latent power which his knowledge of Saturday night gave him over Ilam.
“You will come with me to my house,” he said.