Trenmore growled in his throat.
"For sure," said he at last, "you murderers have gone to needless trouble! Why do you not cut our throats with your own hands? The deed would fit your natures!"
Virtue and Mercy only smiled complacently.
"Sorry you aren't amused," drawled the latter gentleman. "This little joke was not invented for your special benefit. Do you know who that is down there?"
"The statue of the devil you worship!" hazarded Trenmore viciously.
"Oh, no indeed! Quite the contrary. The statue of the devil you worship, my bellicose friend. That is the God of War, and as he can no longer stride loose about the world, we have made it convenient for his devotees to drop in on him. In other words, break the Peace of Penn, and you'll get more of war than you like. 'Sic semper tyrannis!' Any man who assaults another is a tyrant by intent, at least, so down you go."
"It was your police who attacked me!" accused Trenmore hotly.
Mercy's brows lifted.
"Was it? I had rather forgotten. That does spoil my parable, eh? But we shan't let it interfere with your invaluable opportunity to worship the God of War."
"Do you actually throw people-living people-into that vile trap?" Drayton's voice was incredulous. So theatrical, so tawdry seemed this Pit of theirs: like a stage dragon at which one may shudder, but not sincerely.