“One of us, one of our Order?” thundered Mr. De Lorme. “He is a slave to what he calls law and order; he is all patriotism. They have lectures in their schools. Ah, when we get this government into our hands things will be different! Then Truth will be taught. Get rid of him, Zip. I command it!”
“I don’t like it,” said Zip stubbornly.
De Lorme turned on him with the savage suddenness of a panther. “Then do you want to be snuffed out for disobedience?” he demanded.
“No, I don’t,” said Zip, “but you are so angry that you can’t see straight. How are we to get rid of the boy here; here on a block where every man and woman and child knows him? You yourself have made him make friends.”
“It was a safeguard,” said Mr. De Lorme. “Think of the fool women who have sent jelly and beaten biscuits home with him for his sick father! Bah!”
“All right,” said Zip, pressing his momentary advantage, “It is as you made it, is it not? Well, we will not be here much longer. We can keep him a close prisoner, and when we go we will decide what to do with him. There are millions of safer places than this for the sort of work you want me to do.”
Mr. De Lorme pondered this. “All right,” he agreed finally. “I am willing to concede this much. See that the boy is kept a close prisoner for the next two days. He cannot possibly escape from the third story.”
“No, there is not even a balcony,” said Zip.
“Go up in the morning—no, tonight, and put the fear of death into his soul,” said Mr. De Lorme. “I cannot see him. It disturbs my balance, and I am unfit for our delicate labor when I am nervous. Let him have food, but not too much.”
He snatched the door open and went over to the door leading into the attic and shook it. It was stout and heavy, and yielded nothing to his savage handling. Dee heard him, and running down, leaned his ear against the panel. So he heard the end of the strange conversation.