Squire Hexter did find his voice. “Good God!” he shouted.
“God is good!” said Vaniman. He threw the weapons into a far corner of the basement. “Squire Hexter, take charge of this thing. Here are plenty of witnesses.”
The Squire went forward slowly. His lips moved without the sound of spoken word. He set the clutch of his hands on Vaniman's arms. He stared long and earnestly into the young man's eyes.
“I can't talk now,” Vaniman quavered.
And the Squire seemed to know, out of his sympathy with men, that there was something for that case better than words. He put his arms around Vaniman and kissed him. “Come along home with me to Xoa, sonny.”
Britt struggled to his feet, and groaned when his weight came on the tortured flesh. He looked about as if searching for something. “A basket!” he muttered. “I must find a basket.”
He started forward and saw Vaniman in the hook of the Squire's arm. Whether increase of his mania or some sort of remorse prompted his utterance was not clear. “Take it back to Tophet with you! I didn't mean to keep it. I didn't know how to give it back. I took it so that they'd pen you up, out from under my feet. But even a thousand tons of rock can't pen you. I'm done trying. If this is what you're chasing me for, take it! Keep away from me.”
He went through the crowd, beating his way with his fists.
“Shall we hold him, Squire?” called a man.
“Let him alone for just now! He can't go far in that shape. We'll attend to him after a little while.” The Squire pulled himself together with the air of one who saw that the situation needed a commander. He singled responsible men from the crowd and ordered them to take charge of the coin.