Ernshaw produced some books from his pocket and they sat down at the table.
"We're not so badly off for money," he declared. "It's the purchasing power of it that's making things difficult. I have spread the people out as much as I can. It's the best chance, but next week will be a black one."
They pored over the figures for a time. Outside, the streets were almost as silent as death. Suddenly the door was thrown open, and they both looked up hastily. Selingman stood there, but Selingman transformed. All the colour seemed to have left his cheeks; his eyes were burning with a steely fire. He closed the door behind him and he shivered where he stood. Maraton sprang to his feet.
"What, in God's name, has happened, man?" he cried. "Quick!"
Selingman came a little further into the room. He raised his hands above his head; his voice was thick with horror.
"I have betrayed you!" he moaned. "I have betrayed the people!"
He stood there, still trembling. Maraton poured him out wine, but he swept it away.
"No more of those things for me!" he continued. "Listen to my tale. If there is a God, may he hear me! By every line I have written, by every world of fancy into which I have been led, by every particle of what nations have called my genius, I swear that I speak the truth!"
"I believe you," Maraton said. "Go on. Tell me quickly."
"I trusted Maxendorf," Selingman proceeded, his voice shaking, "trusted and loved him as a brother. I have been his tool and his dupe!"