This was checkmate with a vengeance. Trenmore hesitated, feeling suddenly rather foolish. If he struck, they would throw Viola in first. Already she had been dragged to the very edge by a burly tiger of a pit guard. A dozen men had their hands on the other prisoners. If he did not strike, they would still be thrown in. This was the end.
A sickening weariness replaced the exaltation which had upheld Trenmore till this moment. He let the sword sink slowly, until its point rested on the edge of the Red Bell.
Cleverest smiled sneeringly and half turned. He meant to seat himself on the throne and thenceforward give his orders from the place he had long coveted. Then an earnest, ringing voice arose from the group below him.
"Terry-Terry! For the love of Heaven, don't give up! That man is wrong! They are all wrong! Only that old man knew the truth. Strike that bell and no man in all the city will be alive one moment after! Strike, I say! Kill us and avenge us with one blow!"
"Stop that man's mouth!" cut in Cleverest savagely. "Proceed with the executions!"
But now his fellow Servants intervened. Perhaps they remembered that for all their pride they were only mortal men; or perhaps they were merely curious. At least, several of them rose in open protest.
"No! Wait a minute, Clever-beg pardon, Your Supremity, I should say. Let's hear what the fellow has to say."
"Wait!" This from Mr. Courage, the former High Priest's lieutenant. He was a dignified man with cold gray eyes and features which indicated a character of considerable determination. "Remember, sir, that until the ordination, the Council of Twelve holds power. Let the man speak!"
"Let him speak!"
The chorus was too unanimous for even Cleverest to overlook. With a scowl he stalked to the throne. "Very well, gentleman," he snapped. "Have your way, but no good will come of it. Bring that man up here!"