“Most assuredly,” answered Eliot.
“And upon such trial, expect my noble friend to appear?”
“How else could it be accomplished?” answered the other, in amazement, and then, as though a seed of fear had grown into gigantic form within him, he straightened himself up and said, sententiously: “And I demand thy assurance of his presence when required—thy assurance as a lawyer—or he must be taken into custody.”
“Thy closing threat is a mockery of law,” said Tamworth quietly. “With neither the warrant for his seizure, nor the justifiable ground of a crime committed in the presence of an officer, we may laugh at thy proposed action.”
“Laugh or not,” said Eliot, in measured tones, “we will await the coming of the justice.” And then, looking at Marlowe, he suddenly asked: “And now what is thy name?”
“We will wait for the justice, as you suggest,” interrupted Tamworth, apparently not noticing the question. Then he nodded to Marlowe, who was showing signs of agitation, and the two moved to the wall beyond which lay the secret oratory.
“We must strike at once,” whispered Tamworth.
“Aye,” murmured Marlowe, “but how?”
“The oratory is thine only refuge for the present. Later I will tell my plans.”
“The ink!” demanded Eliot, in loud voice, and then almost inaudibly he spoke to one of the watchmen: “Guard the stairs. Stand there near the railing.”