Mr. Justice Supreme interrupted, "Why did you not stop this man? Do you mean you allowed him to enter without any protest?"
"I did, Your Supremity. Mr. Mercy is my superior, sir, and while I intended reporting to Your Supremity-as I am doing now-it wasn't for me to interfere with his commands or permissions. The stranger, he went in the library. I stuck around, thinking I'd keep my eye on him, at least, to see that he didn't remove none of the books. That would be going it a little too strong. But he stayed and stayed. Once or twice I strolled by, and there he was, reading for all he was worth.
"Then, a while ago, Mr. Mercy comes hurrying along again. He stops short, like he was surprised. 'Haven't you got that door shut yet?' he snaps at me. Before I could answer he runs to the door, looks in, and shouts, 'What's that fellow doing in there? Forty-five, go in there and get that man! Did you know he was there?' Before I had a chance to say anything he blows his whistle. Twenty-seven and Seventy-nine comes on the run. Sixty-three got there later. We go in and grab this Mr. Drayton. He seems surprised like, and starts to say something about Mr. Mercy telling him to go right in and read. Mr. Mercy tells him to shut up, if he don't want rough handling, and he shuts up. Then Mr. Mercy orders us to bring the man here. That's all I have to say, Your Supremity. If I have taken a liberty in reporting just at this time-"
"Don't be a fool," snarled His Supremity. "You are about the only honest man on the force and the one man I have never caught in a lie. Mr. Mercy, have you any defense?"
"Simply that this is a fabrication on the part of No. 45," drawled Mercy. Having passed through the various stages of rage, surprise, and fear, he had emerged in a mood of dangerous calm. "I had occasion to discipline the fellow recently. This, I presume, is his revenge."
Mr. Justice Supreme glared at him. His next words showed that while the servants as a body might be "Masters of the City," Mr. Justice Supreme was in turn their very arbitrary tyrant. Whether he held this power because of his own malignant personality, or because of hereditary authority, it was power absolute. No. 45 had made no mistake when he braved the certain wrath of Mr. Mercy and thereby gained the favor of His Supremity.
"Mr. Mercy," said the latter with snarling bluntness, "you are a liar and No. 45 is not! Again and again you have recently overstepped the mark, thinking, perhaps, that I have no eyes and no ears but my own, and that they are growing defective with old age. We will go into your case fully at a more appropriate time and try to correct that impression. You will find that the exposing of state secrets to help along some petty intrigue of your own is not the light offense you appear to believe it.
"Let this prisoner be held as a witness-no, I do not care to have him held. One who has desecrated the realm of sacred knowledge cannot die too quickly. Cast him into the pit!"
A trifle pale, but entirely self-possessed, Drayton had stood silent. Even now, hearing that by-this-time monotonous decree, be made no attempt to defend himself. Indeed he found composure for a certain whimsical reflection. Twice before he had been condemned to the pit-once, two days ago, by Judge Virtue, in this very temple; once, in a distant place and age, before a tribunal whose proceedings, though less promptly fatal, were strangely similar in spirit. And of the two, Penn Service was the kindlier. Its condemned neither endured imprisonment nor had time to suffer the bitterness of unjust disgrace.
Breaking from her brother's sustaining arm, Viola Trenmore pushed her way between the police and caught Drayton's cold hand in hers.