The guards, kowtowing, backed out of my presence. I stood there alone in that vast, silent chamber.
I was aroused at last from my deep reverie by the approach of a messenger from Keen Chop. He thus addressed me:
“The wretched, little, misshapen Keen Chop humbly begs the tall and stately stranger to drink tea with him in his private apartment.”
Mechanically I followed the judge’s servant, who lead me through long and winding corridors. Keen Chop had laid off his huge spectacles and received me most graciously.
All the servants were dismissed. We sipped our tea in silence for a while. At length, rising and stepping behind a screen, he returned, bearing a huge volume.
It was the record of Bulger’s trial. He desired me to examine it while he refreshed himself after his long sitting on the judge’s bench with a short nap.
I turned the leaves of the record over slowly. Not only were my words set down with the most perfect accuracy, but correct drawings of the various scenes filled the broad margins of the record.
On the last page I noticed that a blank space had been left between the words “must” and “die” and “him” and “be delivered.”
“’Tis miraculous!” exclaimed Keen Chop, starting up and rubbing his eyes. “What a wonderful creature is thy dog! As I slept I dreamt that he oped his mouth and what fell therefrom convinced me of his innocence.”
“Let him be brought into your august presence, O just judge!” I replied.