And then, blandly turning to the guards, the Councillor ordered, "Take the prisoners to the body-testing rooms. I believe we are up on our schedule, are we not?"
"Yes, Your Highness," returned the leader of the guards, bowing until his bare knees touched the floor, "there is no reason why your desires should not be executed within three days."
"Splendid!" approved the Councillor; while Downey, his arms still bound by the cramping wires, felt himself being drawn away in the midst of his grinning, kilted captors.
III
Stripped to the waist, Downey stood in a gray steel room that somewhat resembled the turret of a battleship. Gun-shaped implements bristled from the grim painted walls; a veritable arsenal of knives glistened behind him; while in the foreground was a series of tall machines equipped with an intricacy of dials and tubes, to one of which Downey's left arm had been strapped.
Just behind Downey stood a queer looking individual; robed in black, although with bare knees, according to the local custom; and with a black mask, and two tubes like doubly long opera glasses attached to his eyes. Eagerly he was bending over the dials, and reciting, half as though to himself, "339. 339.1. 340.1. 340.3." Then, with sudden enthusiasm, he snapped off the mask and glasses, revealing a wizened ancient face, and exclaimed,
"Young man, I congratulate you! You have passed!"
"Passed what, Doctor?" demanded Downey, as the examiner freed his arms from the straps.
"Passed the body test! You have come through with high honors! I never saw a more perfect physique! No flaw—no disease! Your score is more than three hundred and forty—and two hundred and thirty, as you may know, is considered a good average. I shall recommend you for immediate decapitation! My congratulations again, young man!"