"In three hours' time let him be cast into the pit," came the inexorable judgment from the throne. "Let him have that three hours to consider and repent of his sacrilege. Penn is just and all-merciful. Take the prisoner away! Let the former chief resume his official duties."
The chief celebrated his rehabilitation by dragging his presumptuous successor off the scene, the latter still sputtering and expostulating, his captor wearing an expression of serene amusement.
"What next?" questioned Viola hopelessly.
The next arrived with great promptness. Mr. Pity had no more than glanced at his list, after the prisoner's removal, when there came the tramp of feet and the sound of an excited voice.
"Bring him along, men," it commanded. "Drag the sacrilegious beast before the throne! Let his Supremity judge the dog!"
Then appeared the triumphant Mr. Mercy, waving on a cohort of four policemen. In their midst was another and much disheveled prisoner.
"'Tis Bobby!" groaned the Irishman.
Loveliest appeared, crossed behind the guarded prisoner, and defiantly took her stand beside Trenmore. Evidently the downfall of two of her four proteges had alarmed the woman. As much occasion for formality had vanished with the Numbers' exit, she had chanced the anger of the throne and come to her "big man's" assistance. Once more Mr. Justice Supreme was roused from somnolence.
"Well, well," he demanded crossly of Mercy. "What's all this about? Are we never to have a moment's peace to finish these examinations? Who is that fellow you have there?"
Mr. Mercy bowed gracefully, silk hat for once removed and pressed to his triumphant bosom. He cast one glance of joyous malice at Loveliest, and addressed the throne: