"You dare to dispute my authority?" he demanded.
"I dare to dispute your ability to slay us," returned Quinn. "Your executioner will disappear from before your eyes if he attempts it."
The king laughed ironically.
"We shall see," he said, sinking placidly back on his seat. "Let the executioner-general proceed with his preparations."
I was greatly pleased with the drift of affairs. Circumstances had conspired to favor us, and the professor was making the most of his opportunity.
The executioner-general motioned to one of his attendants and then raised his four hands above his head. A moment later the attendant had seized the whitewash brush, dabbed it into the anti-gravity compound, and with two quick strokes had covered the executioner's chest and back.
Had a third stroke been needed it could not have been given. In a flash the official had been snatched away, vanishing like a streak of white in the void above.
The king rose gasping, clutching at the balcony rail. The throng around us was paralyzed for a space, and not a word-box was heard.
As for Quinn, he had struck an attitude, his left hand raised aloft and his glittering, bead-like eyes transfixing the king.
CHAPTER XIII.