"Feel better?" he queried.
"A little," muttered Drayton. He was seated on a leather-covered couch in a small room, and his only companion was the policeman. "I suppose," he added disconsolately, "that Trenmore was badly hurt. Where are they now?"
The officer laughed. "If Trenmore is your big friend, he came around sooner than you did. Lord, I wish't we had that guy on the force! Can you walk yet?"
Drayton rose unsteadily. "I guess so. Have you put the others in cells?"
"Hardly!" The officers stared at him. "They don't keep a case like this waiting. Your friend won't go in no cell, nor you either. And as for the girl-" He broke off, with a shrug.
"And the girl?" Drayton repeated sharply.
"I dunno. Mr. Mercy was looking her over. I doubt he'll let that beauty go to the Pit. But come along, or we'll keep Mr. Virtue waiting."
"Mr. Virtue!" What a very odd name, thought Drayton, as he walked to the door, leaning heavily on his jailer. And Mr. Mercy, too. Had he fallen into a chapter of Pilgrim's Progress? Had the whole world gone mad while they wandered in Ulithia? And what of this amazing "Temple" that had usurped the interior of City Hall?
On the streets outside, everything had appeared normal-except for those infernal buttons. Surely this was Philadelphia that they had returned to. Who that had ever visited the city could doubt its identity? It was as distinctive as New York, though in a different way. And all the familiar details-the Market Street Ferry, the outer architecture of City Hall, Broad Street-oh, and above all that benevolent, unforgettable statue of William Penn-
The door opened upon a long, low-ceilinged, windowless room, illuminated by hidden lights behind the cornice. The ceiling was a delicate rose-pink, and, like the golden dome, shed its color downward upon a scene of Oriental splendor. Unlike the white-paved court, however, this chamber was far from bare.