Graham clutched desperately at one of the questions in his mind. “What is the population of London?” he said.
“Eight and twaindy myriads.”
“Eight and what?”
“More than thirty-three millions.”
These figures went beyond Graham’s imagination.
“You will be expected to say something,” said Ostrog. “Not what you used to call a Speech, but what our people call a word—just one sentence, six or seven words. Something formal. If I might suggest—‘I have awakened and my heart is with you.’ That is the sort of thing they want.”
“What was that?” asked Graham.
“‘I am awakened and my heart is with you.’ And bow—bow royally. But first we must get you black robes—for black is your colour. Do you mind? And then they will disperse to their homes.”
Graham hesitated. “I am in your hands,” he said.
Ostrog was clearly of that opinion. He thought for a moment, turned to the curtain and called brief directions to some unseen attendants. Almost immediately a black robe, the very fellow of the black robe Graham had worn in the theatre, was brought. And as he threw it about his shoulders there came from the room without the shrilling of a high-pitched bell. Ostrog turned in interrogation to the attendant, then suddenly seemed to change his mind, pulled the curtain aside and disappeared.