"Prisoner," he said, "you have heard the verdict. Have you anything further to say?"
"Nothing," said Chester quietly. "What's the use?"
"Then," said the chief, turning to the rest of the conspirators, "you shall draw lots to determine the executioner."
He opened a small box that was on the table, rose to his feet, and held the box out at arm's length.
"You will come forward, one at a time," he told his fellow-plotters, "and let not one of you look at the ball you have drawn until each man has taken a ball and returned to his seat. Number One!"
Number One stepped forward, reached in the box and extracted a ball, which he carefully concealed in his hand, and returned to his seat. Each man stepped forward in turn, and then returned to his chair, with a ball in his hand. Then the chief spoke again.
"Who has the red ball?" he demanded.
Each man looked at the ball he had drawn, and then a voice at the opposite end of the room from Chester rang out:
"I have it!"
"Good!" exclaimed the chief once more. "Then the prisoner's fate shall be left in your hands. You may dispose of him in whatever manner you desire. But"—and he raised a warning finger—"see that you make no slip." He turned to the rest of the conspirators. "The rest of you may go."