Folding an arm about Viola, Trenmore dashed a hand across his eyes and at last did look. On four sides rose the gray, irregular, many-windowed walls of a huge building. Beneath his feet lay a pavement of uneven gray concrete. The place was bright with the white glare of electric lights. Where had been the four doors of the temple, he saw through open archways to the streets beyond.
Above was no golden dome, but the open starlit sky. Up toward it pointed a high, gray tower, almost white in the rays of a searchlight somewhere on the lower walls. The tower was surmounted by the foreshortened but identifiable statue of William Penn, not falling but very solid and majestically beneficent as usual. Then Trenmore became aware of a nasal, high-pitched voice.
"I tell you I've got to catch my train!" it wailed. "Arrest that lunatic or let him go, just as you please. But if you make me miss that train, you'll regret it! Your own men there will testify that I did nothing. I was simply hurrying through the public buildings on my way to Broad Street Station. Then that wild man jumped on me from behind. Chief Hannigan is my brother-in-law. If you make me miss that last train I'll get your stripes for it, or I'm a Dutchman!"
Viewing the speaker with new eyes, Trenmore perceived him to be a tall, thin man; who had already rescued his hat from where it had rolled, and retrieved a small black suit case. He was handing his card to the sergeant. That officer promptly capitulated.
"Beg your pardon, Mr. Flynn. Meant no offense, I'm sure. Trying to catch the ten-five? You can get it yet!"
Making no reply, the man fled so precipitately toward Broad Street Station that his coat tails stood out behind.
"That's Mr. Charles Flynn, the undertaker," observed the sergeant to a group of four or five policemen who had now gathered and were regarding Trenmore with mingled wonder and menace. "He lives out at Media. Now, my man, you come along quietly. What were you trying to do-provide Mr. Flynn as a corpse for one of his own funerals?"
The jest brought a laugh from his subordinates. Trenmore was silent. He had lost all desire to fight, and the smallest policeman there could have led him away by one hand. But Viola's quick wits again saved the situation. Releasing herself gently from her brother's arm, she addressed the sergeant with quiet dignity.
"Officer, this gentleman is my brother. He is subject to epileptic seizures. Just now he became separated from me and from his-his attendant. The fit came on him and he fell against the other gentleman. He is ill, and all he needs is to be taken home and put to bed. Mr. Drayton, here, is his nurse. Please, sergeant! You wouldn't arrest my poor brother?"
Trenmore perceived that Drayton had indeed taken his place at his other side. Over the heads of the police he saw Arnold Bertram and Miss Skidoo!