'Waste,' thundered the fat man on the bench, but the President upheld Rudd's submission and ordered an issue of rations to each of them when they had returned to their temporary prison. Then he ordered their removal.
On his way out Rudd paused before the bench and in a low voice again addressed the President: 'Er you'll excuse me, Guvnor, but 'ow long 'ave we got, if yer know wot I mean?'
'About three hours, was the soft reply. 'Executions take place at seven o'clock in the morning and the evening.'
'Coo er! that ain't long, is it. Couldn't yer make it ter morrer? It's me birfday, an' it 'ud be a kind o' celebration ter go out on what they calls yer natal day.'
'No, that is impossible.' The Chief of the Tribunal shook his head. 'Other reactionaries are constantly being arrested and your place of confinement will be needed for them.'
'Orl right, Guv'nor.' Rudd moved to follow the rest but threw a parting shot over his shoulder. 'I 'ope it keeps fine for yer when they bumps you off; an' they will, yer know, sure as me favourite dish is winkles.'
An armed escort piloted them across the square, into the little hotel where Ann had spent a portion of the night, and the morning, then up the stairs to the first floor drawing room, where they were locked in and at last able to talk freely.
'Well, we're for it all right,' Silas announced grimly, 'but you certainly are an extraordinary people. That magistrate managed to give me the impression that he had a real right to deliver judgment on us, he was that serious about it.'
'Yes, we're orderly enough,' Kenyon agreed, 'even in a revolution; it's in the blood, I suppose, but that's what makes it so horribly final. They'll take us out of this place on the tick of seven o'clock and shoot us with the same precision as if they were serving a summons on us for not having paid the dog licence.'
'Kenyon,' said Ann suddenly, 'we haven't got long kiss me.'
She was still so overwrought that she could think of nothing but his presence and her escape, the others were shadows moving in the room, and as they turned away she clung to him with pathetic passion.
Twenty minutes later their food arrived. Two potatoes apiece boiled in their jackets, a hunk of course light brown bread and an apple each. Rudd came away from the window where he had been staring out into the square. Veronica rose from her new husband's knee where she had been endeavouring to keep up a cheerful flow of banter, and Kenyon and Ann ceased to stare at each other stupidly upon the sofa.
They had not tasted food for the best part of twenty four hours so, despite the fact that they might not live to digest the meal, they set to almost ravenously, while Ann recounted her adventures and they told her of their trip crowded together in one small cabin of the Shark, in which they had been brought from Shingle Street to Pinmill on the Orwell.
After they had fed they fell silent, only the monotonous tread of the sentry as he paced up and down outside the door was audible.
'Silas, is there no way that we can get out of this place?' Veronica demanded suddenly.
He looked a little hopelessly around the old fashioned hotel drawing room. It was a low ceilinged room of moderate size filled with indifferent furniture. A spindle legged writing table stood between the windows, and a geranium plant on a pedestal occupied one corner. Antimacassars of coarse lace draped the arm chairs and sofa, the wallpaper was a hideous shade of green, and cheap prints of sentimental subjects hung on long wires from the picture rail. There was one door only, and the sole outward sign that the place' had been converted into a prison was a network of barbed wire across the windows. Silas shook his head: 'I'm afraid not, honey.'
'If you call me honey I shall scream,' she exclaimed wildly and began to pace nervously up and down the room.
Rudd stood again by the window keeping an anxious, fascinated eye upon the hands of the clock opposite. Ken yon and Ann had returned to the sofa and once more a strained unnatural silence fell upon the room.
'What's the time?' asked Veronica suddenly breaking the tension.
'Jus' turned 'arf pars' five, Miss,' reported Rudd.
'I wonder,' she said slowly, 'if Gregory got away.'
'You bet 'e did,' Rudd's belief in his master's capabilities remained unshakable.
'Yes,' said Kenyon from the sofa a little bitterly, 'he would be the one to get out in the end; I expect he'll walk to London and turn Kommissar after all.'
'Well, good luck to him if he does,' Veronica took him up sharply.
'Oh, rather,' he agreed heartily, 'and if he did I'll bet his first action would be to secure an order of release for us; the only trouble is that even Gregory couldn't get himself made a Kommissar in the hour and a quarter we have to go.'
'I wonder what is happening in London,' Ann said ruminatively.
Kenyon squeezed her hand. 'It's much the same as here I expect.'
Then there is a chance that things will settle down again.'
'After a bit perhaps, but first there will be wholesale shootings. It wouldn't be so bad if the chaps like that magistrate could keep control, the trouble is that the extremists like Brisket always get the upper hand in every revolution after the first month or two, and massacre the moderates. Once that happens it may be years before the country recovers.'
'The English are very conservative,' Silas put in. 'It wouldn't surprise me any if there were a counter revolution.'
No one contradicted him and they sank into silence again, too busy with agitated thoughts of their approaching end to enter into argument.
'What time is it now?' Veronica asked again after a little in a nervous, high pitched voice.
'Few minutes ter six, Miss,' Rudd muttered from his post of observation at the window.
'God!' Kenyon groaned, forgetful of Ann for the moment. 'We've got another hour of this.'
'Try not to think of it, my darling,' she smiled at him. 'I wish we could know if there is going to be a counter revolution though.'
Silas heaved his bulk out of the arm chair. Despite his apparent calmness he was desperately worried for Veronica, yet he could think of no way to engage her mind and quieten her restfulness. 'I wish a darn sight more that this radio was working,' he remarked, laying his large hand on the switch. 'If only we could tune in to a band it might cheer us up a little.'
Tick, tick, tick, the instrument responded with its rhythmic note.
'Good God! it is,' exclaimed Kenyon, bounding to his feet, 'That's the metronome.'
For a full minute they all stood staring at it in astonished silence, and then a clear resonant voice impinged upon their listening ears, coming to that drab, old fashioned room out of the vastness of the ether:
'This is London calling.'
25
The Devil Rarely Gets His Due
They stood with strained expectant faces, their eyes riveted upon the instrument, while the voice continued slowly and distinctly:
'I am not a professional announcer, listeners will please overlook any faults of delivery. I will, however, speak as clearly as possible for this message is of vital importance.
'As you are aware the Broadcasting Service has been suspended for nearly a month and doubtless you will have assumed this to be due to sabotage; actually, the wrecking of all stations throughout the country was deliberate and carried out, under the instructions of the late Government, by the principal executives before abandoning their plant; it being the policy of the Government to prevent facilities for propaganda falling into other hands.
'During the first fortnight in August a reign of anarchy swept the whole country. Many deaths are reported from all quarters, and owing to a complete breakdown in the distribution of supplies, the prospect of starvation drove an ordinary law abiding people to unheard of acts of savagery.