"No, he's not, but it's my belief that when the Superintendent thinks it over he will be."
"The Superintendent is a just man, according to his lights. Where is he?"
"I don't know. He'll be down here soon, I daresay."
"There shall be no more persecution of those that are innocent. My soul is tossed with a tempest, but it is written, yea, and in letters of fire! Whoso sheddeth a man's blood by man shall his blood be shed!"
"That's the idea," agreed the Sergeant. "But as for persecuting the innocent -'
"Forsake the foolish and live!" Glass interrupted, a grim, mirthless smile twisting his lips. "Woe to them that are wise in their own eyes! Know that judgments are prepared for scorners, and stripes for the back of fools!"
"All right!" said the Sergeant, nettled. "If you're so clever, perhaps you know who really is the murderer?"
Glass's eyes stared into his, queerly glowing. "I alone know who is the murderer!"
The Sergeant blinked at him. Neither he nor Glass had noticed the opening of the door. Hannasyde's quiet voice made them both jump. "No, Glass. Not you alone," he said.