On the throne sat that decrepit, hateful figure, Mr. Justice Supreme. There sat also every one of the Servants who had witnessed the examinations, earlier in the day, including Mr. Mercy, looking depressed but interested. Cleverest was there, too, standing beside his uncle.
Then Trenmore spoke, with the great voice of an Angel of Doom.
"You devils below there!" he shouted. "Take heed to my words! I've a warning to give you."
There came a deafening roar behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he saw a billowing, greenish cloud issuing from the balcony. It cleared slowly, revealing a pair of explosion-shattered doors, sagging from their hinges. A crowd of his enemies poured through the aperture and on to the balcony. At the rail, however, they paused, glaring across at Trenmore.
"Sword o' Battle," he murmured softly, "do you not wish they may try to cross on our bridge? Do you not hope it, little sword?"
Between his men the Quickest pushed his way to the railing. He had secured another revolver and he leveled it at Trenmore. "Surrender, my man, or you'll be shot where you stand!" came his terse command.
"Surrender is it? And why don't you shoot me, then? Sure, am I not a condemned man, chief, darling?"
"His Supremity has instructed me to grant you a reprieve if you will surrender. There has already been damage enough done."
Said Trenmore, "I'll wager my life against your marksmanship, chief. Shoot now! And see if you can kill Terence Trenmore before he can strike the bell!" Once more he heaved up the sword.
The chief turned pale and lowered his own weapon. "You are a madman!" he shouted. "Strike that bell and your friends and you will perish with the rest of us!"
"A quick death and a happy one! In dying we'll rid the earth of its worst scum, if all they say is true. No, no, little man. I'll not come over to you. And if you shoot, you'll strike the bell yourself in a small way-or cause me to do it in earnest. I've no time to be exchanging pleasantries. I'll just guard my back and go on with my business."
He brought the sword crashing down on the frail bridge. With a splintering sound it broke loose. Trenmore's end fell to the floor, carrying with it some of the scaffolding. Trenmore barely saved himself from going down. Regaining his footing neatly, he waved a hand at the furious chief and climbed around the bell to a place where it partly shielded him from the balcony. Thence he could face his more important enemies on the dais.
"You'll pardon me," he shouted. "There was a small interruption. Now, tell me, you old scoundrel on the throne there, have I the upper hand, or have I not?"
CHAPTER 19: TRENMORE STRIKES
IT was Cleverest who replied, scornfully and with no sign of fear.
"You fool," he cried, "strike the bell if you like. Do you think we care for that? We are waiting for you to be brought down here to die with these other vermin!"
"And is that the way you regard it?" inquired Trenmore with a laugh, but his heart sank. He was bluffing on a large and glorious scale, and if the bluff was to be called, he might as well leap from his place and be done with it. However, the Irishman was a firm believer in the motto: Fight to a finish whatever the odds! "Then I'll strike and settle the matter," he added defiantly.
Just beyond where he stood, the Red Bell was naked of scaffolding. He swung up the sword for a great blow. But there was at least one man in the hall whose faith was equal to that of the Numbers themselves. That man was Mr. Justice Supreme, High Servant of Penn.
As the sword flashed up, the old man leaped from his chair. With galvanic energy and upraised, clawlike hands, he stumbled to the edge of the dais. "No, no, no!" he shrieked. "Don't strike! For mercy's sake don't strike the bell; don't strike-"
The words died on his lips. The yellow claws clutched at his heart and he flung back his head, mouth open. As his knees sagged under him, Cleverest barely saved his uncle from falling to the pavement below. Holding the limp form in his arms, he felt for the old man's heart. Then be laid him down on the dais and turned to the Servants.
"Gentlemen," he said very solemnly. "Mr. Justice Supreme has passed to the arms of Penn!"
Every man on the platform rose and gravely removed his high hat; then, with the utmost tranquility, reseated himself. Full tribute to the dead having been rendered, business might proceed as before.
Cleverest turned again and shook his fist at Trenmore. "It is you who have done this!" he cried. "It is you who shall pay for it! Gentlemen"-he whirled to his seated fellows-"have you any objection-any fear of this world or the next-which causes you to dread the striking of that bell?"
They all smiled. One or two laughed outright. Mr. Pity arose in his place. "Mr. Justice Supreme," he said, "Pardon me if I forestall your ordination under that title, but this is an uncommon emergency. Your Supremity, I am sure I speak for all of us when I say that the gentleman on the bell is welcome to hammer at it all night, if that will relieve his feelings. He gives us credit for an uncommonly large slice of his own superstition!"
"You hear?" yelled Cleverest at the Irishman. "Strike if you please! For every stroke you will see one of your friends here dropped screaming down the pit!"
This was checkmate with a vengeance. Trenmore hesitated, feeling suddenly rather foolish. If he struck, they would throw Viola in first. Already she had been dragged to the very edge by a burly tiger of a pit guard. A dozen men had their hands on the other prisoners. If he did not strike, they would still be thrown in. This was the end.
A sickening weariness replaced the exaltation which had upheld Trenmore till this moment. He let the sword sink slowly, until its point rested on the edge of the Red Bell.
Cleverest smiled sneeringly and half turned. He meant to seat himself on the throne and thenceforward give his orders from the place he had long coveted. Then an earnest, ringing voice arose from the group below him.
"Terry-Terry! For the love of Heaven, don't give up! That man is wrong! They are all wrong! Only that old man knew the truth. Strike that bell and no man in all the city will be alive one moment after! Strike, I say! Kill us and avenge us with one blow!"
"Stop that man's mouth!" cut in Cleverest savagely. "Proceed with the executions!"
But now his fellow Servants intervened. Perhaps they remembered that for all their pride they were only mortal men; or perhaps they were merely curious. At least, several of them rose in open protest.
"No! Wait a minute, Clever-beg pardon, Your Supremity, I should say. Let's hear what the fellow has to say."
"Wait!" This from Mr. Courage, the former High Priest's lieutenant. He was a dignified man with cold gray eyes and features which indicated a character of considerable determination. "Remember, sir, that until the ordination, the Council of Twelve holds power. Let the man speak!"
"Let him speak!"
The chorus was too unanimous for even Cleverest to overlook. With a scowl he stalked to the throne. "Very well, gentleman," he snapped. "Have your way, but no good will come of it. Bring that man up here!"
Leaning on the sword Trenmore looked on with renewed hope in his optimistic soul. "I wonder," thought he, "does the boy know some real secret about this red thing here? Or is he bluffing? If he is, good luck and a power of invention to the tongue of him!"
Drayton was escorted around to the dais steps by two blue-clad policemen. When he stood before the throne, Cleverest gestured impatiently.
"I have no wish to question this man. Gentlemen, since you have taken the matter on yourselves, will you kindly conclude it?"
"We will." The imperturbable Mr. Courage turned to Drayton. "Young man, what is it that you know about the Threat of Penn which we, the Servants of Penn, do not already know?"