"The sword is a kind of elaborate gong-striking device then," commented Drayton. He recalled Cleverest's description of the singular dread in which the Red Bell was held by the Numbers. "What would happen if it were used?" he queried in turn.
"Oh, the city would go up in smoke, I suppose." The woman laughed as she said it. Clearly she herself had no great faith in the probability of such a catastrophe.
"But how do your people imagine that a miracle of that sort could be brought about?" persisted Drayton.
"You do ask such questions! By a special dispensation of our Lord Penn, I suppose. Will you come with me, please? Under no circumstances must His Supremacy be kept waiting."
They followed her, back into the red corridor, and thence through a long series of luxurious living apartments, smoking, lounging, and drawing-rooms, each furnished in a style compatible only with great wealth or the system of "credit" peculiar to Penn Service. Crossing the old patrol entrance, they at last reached that part of the Temple which was held consecrate to the use of the highest Servant, Mr. Justice Supreme. While possessing several residences in various pleasant locations, he preferred, the lady informed them, to live almost entirely in the Temple. To the visitors, this "Temple," with its more or less resident "Servants" bore a close resemblance to a clubhouse for luxury-loving millionaires.
They waited in an anteroom with their guide, who had given her card and a penciled message to one of the half-dozen uniformed page boys who lounged there. The lad returned with a verbal message to the effect that Mr. Justice Supreme begged to be excused.
At almost the same moment Cleverest emerged from the door leading to the inner sanctum. He came straight to them with a smile of welcome which made him look almost good humored. Close behind appeared the plethoric Mr. Virtue.
"I declare, Virty, it's too bad!" began Loveliest indignantly. "You promised that you would arrange a presentation."
Mr. Virtue, looking worried and more than a little annoyed, shook his head. "I can't help it. I couldn't see him myself, Lovely. Clever's been with him all morning. Ask him what the trouble is!"
She turned a glance of sharp suspicion upon her fellow Superlative. "Did you have anything to do with this, Clever? If you did-"
"To do with what?" inquired Cleverest blandly. "His Supremity is somewhat indisposed, and is conserving his strength for the ceremonies. You have no cause for anxiety. I explained things to him myself. There will be no trouble. You really owe me a debt of gratitude, Lovely. The dear old gentleman has always been rather fond of the present Strongest. I had quite a little job persuading him that your candidate was in every way more deserving."
She watched him with a puzzled frown. Then her brow cleared, her eyes opened wide with that dark distension of the pupils which was a trick of theirs.
"Why, Clever," she beamed, "I'm tremendously obliged to you. I never thought you really cared enough to do anything like that for me. Particularly now!"
He smiled, with a barefaced assumption of hurt tenderness which would have deceived none but the most vain and assured of women.
"You've never done me justice Lovely. Don't thank me until the competitions are over. When the job's done I shall feel more worthy! Come along to the Green Room. Nearly every one else is there."
The "Green Room" proved to be a long, wide chamber with windows on one side only, opening out upon the Hall of Justice. In the center of that side, level with the pavement, opened the northern door, which varied from the other two in being of the same scarlet hue as the Red Bell. The room itself was done entirely in green, a thick velvet carpet of that color covering the floor like moss, and the walls being decorated in a simulation of foliage. The place was well filled. By the law, it seemed, every Superlative physically able to be present must appear at the Civic Service Examinations, held once in four years. Most of them had brought members of their families.
All wore the green or red buttons of Superlativism, and all were dressed with a gayety which verged-in many cases more than verged-on distinct vulgarity. For some reason of etiquette none of the Servants' womenfolk were present. The three visitors were therefore unable to pass judgment on those greatest of great ladies. The gathering present, however, represented if not the cream, at least the top milk of twenty-second century society. Though it was morning, the only women present whose gowns were not almost painfully decollate were Viola Trenmore, Loveliest, and two or three very young girls. Colors shrieked at one another, or were gagged to silence by an overpowering display of jewelry. Some of the older and plainer ladies were quite masked in the enamel of their complexions.
The Loveliest took her proteges about the room, presenting them to the various officials and their wives. She seemed on the most familiar terms with the men, but the women, while they addressed her with formal respect, cast glances at her back tinged with anything but affection.
The only Superlative not present was the Swiftest, Chief of the Messenger Service. "Laid up with another bad attack of rheumatism," Mr. Virtue explained sympathetically.
"He'll be laid up with worse than that after the contests," grinned Cleverest, with a meaning wink at Drayton.
The latter smiled back, but the effort was mechanical. They boasted of the fair and open nature of these contests, and at the same time talked of the results as a foregone conclusion. One ex-lawyer wondered what ghost of a chance he had to supplant this man, nephew of Justice Supreme, and so sure of his ability to undermine Loveliest, herself a person of influence and evident power. He had the ghastly feeling of a man walking on a thin crust above unknown fires. There was too little that they understood; too much that hinted of subterranean movements and powers which at any moment might writhe and cast them all into that theatrical, deadly pit, beneath the Dove of Peace.
Then he heard the green-eyed lady's voice again, speaking in the silkiest of tones. "And this, my friends, is our Chief of Contractors, the Strongest. Stringy, let me make you acquainted with Mr. Trenmore. And Miss Trenmore. This little lady is to try her hand at domesticity, Stringy. I don't imagine there will be any competition-not for that office."
The official whom she disrespectfully misaddressed as "Stringy" fitted his nickname better than his real title of Strongest. He was a tall, long-limbed, lean man, with a very red face and sunburned neck. He glanced pityingly at Viola. From her his gaze turned anxiously to the huge giant of a man with whom he was shortly to contend not only for continuance in office, but life itself. He started to say something, choked, and, turning abruptly, hurried off to lose himself in the crowd of his more fortunate fellows.
"Somebody has tipped Stringy off," laughed Mr. Virtue. "Hi, there, Merry! Whither away?"
But the ineffable Mr. Mercy jerked roughly from his friend's detaining hand and without a glance for the rest of the party passed on through the door leading to the inner sanctuary.
"He's sore, too," growled Virtue. "Lovely, you're getting me in bad all around."
"Merry will get over it," she replied indifferently. "He never thinks of any one but himself. Outside of that he's a good sort. I'll square things for you, Virty, once this examination is over. What was it you said, Mr. Drayton?"
"Is there any objection," repeated Drayton, "to my wandering about a bit? The decorative schemes of these rooms are wonderful. I used to be interested in such things, as a boy. You don't mind?"
"Not at all. Go over toward the eastern side, though, away from Mr. J. S.'s sanctum. And be back here within the half hour."