He paused; and the silence seemed almost like a continuation of his speech. The multitude seemed frozen into stone. Then came an isolated phrase:
“Into Nirvana; Nirvana where there is rest....”
The voice died away in a soothing murmur which yet had its compelling power. Nordenholt looked at his watch.
“Two minutes yet. So far, he hasn’t been actively objectionable; but I can guess what is coming.”
Again the dictaphone sounded.
“But a few moments now, my brothers, then I and my Elect shall ascend into the skies. Look well, O my brothers. Mark our passage to our rest.”
His voice ceased. There was a dead silence. Then, suddenly, with a preliminary vibration of machinery, the clock above us struck. Four double chimes for the quarters and then the heavy note of the hour-strokes. Nordenholt listened grimly until all twelve had been rung. Then I heard his voice, even as ever, without the faintest tinge of irony:
“The passing bell!”
With the twelfth stroke there came through the windows a great wave of indescribable sound, the loosing of breath among the thousands who were gathered far below us in the Kelvin valley. Then again there was silence. Nordenholt suddenly leaned forward to his desk and placed his finger on the ivory button.
“Now’s the danger-point, Jack. He’ll try to divert attention from his failure. But I’m ready for him.”