"Brothers," said the president, "you will now------"
But here there was a rush behind me. I turned toward the door. Two men were scuffling with a third, who seemed to be trying to break out. There were the sounds of a struggle; then muttered curses; then the quick, sharp report of a pistol. There was an exclamation of pain and more oaths; knives flashed in the air; others rushed pell-mell into the melee; and then the force of numbers seemed to triumph, and the crowd came, dragging a man forward to where I stood. His face was pale as death; the blood, streamed from a flesh wound on his forehead; an expression of dreadful terror glared out of his eyes; he gasped and looked from right to left. The giant had descended from his dais. He strode forward. The wretch was laid at my feet.
"Speak," said Cæsar, "is that the man?"
"It is," I replied.
The giant took another step, and he towered over the prostrate wretch.
"Brothers," he asked, "what is your judgment upon the spy?"
"Death!" rang the cry from a hundred throats.
The giant put his hand in his bosom; there was a light in his terrible face as if he had long waited for such an hour.
"Lift him up," he said.
Two strong men held the spy by his arms; they lifted him to his feet; he writhed and struggled and shrieked, but the hands that held him were of iron.