After all, there was something grand in this struggle between one man and the entire world. J. T. Maston increased in grandeur in the mind of Mrs. Scorbitt, and also in the opinion of his colleagues of the Gun Club. These gallant fellows were as obstinate as retired artillerymen, and never swerved from their support of Barbicane & Co. The secretary of the Gun Club reached such a height of celebrity that a number of persons even wrote to him, as they do to famous criminals, to obtain a few lines from the hand of the man who was going to upset the globe.
This was all very fine, but it was more and more dangerous. The populace thronged day and night round the gaol of Baltimore. There was great shouting and much tumult. The mob would have lynched J. T. Maston there and then if they could; and the police saw the time was coming when they could no longer protect him.
Desirous of satisfying the American mob, as well as the mob of other countries, the Washington Government decided to bring J. T. Maston to trial.
With a jury selected from the terrified masses, “the affair would not hang about long,” to quote the words of Alcide, who felt a kind of sympathy for the calculator’s tenacity.
On the 5th of September, the President of the Commission visited the prisoner in his cell.
Mrs. Scorbitt, at his urgent request, was allowed to accompany him. Perhaps at the last attempt the influence of this amiable lady might be successful. It would not do to neglect anything. All means were legitimate that might secure the word of the enigma. If they did not succeed, they would see!
“They will see!” said the knowing ones. “Suppose they hang J. T. Maston, and the catastrophe takes place all the same?”
At eleven o’clock, then, Maston found himself in the presence of John Prestice and Evangelina Scorbitt.
“For the last time,” said Prestice, “will you answer me?”
“What about?” said Maston.