"We shall be able to tell in a few moments. Look! The executioner takes his word-box and kneels; he is about to address the king."
"Your majesty," said the executioner-general through his talking machine, "your slave craves your indulgence in the matter of preparing for this happy dispatch. The supply of the official pigment is quite exhausted, and it has been found necessary to fall back upon the white paint that was found in the dwelling recently fallen from the top of the crater."
"Will it answer the purpose?" demanded the king.
"It is white, your majesty, and of proper consistency. So far as I can see, it will answer the purpose well."
"Then proceed with your preparations. I would have this matter over with as quick as possible."
Of course Quinn and I understood all this. I knew that the professor was meditating a final appeal to the king, and he shot a strange look at me as his trembling hands lifted his word-box.
"Before the executioner-general proceeds, your majesty," remarked the professor, his fingers none too steady, "will you allow me a word?"
His majesty gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Where have you learned our language?" he inquired.
"In Baigol, your majesty. We come from that country on a visit to you, under the protection of the royal banner of Golbai."