“To wash the word out of my throat, it stuck there.” “You’ll get drunk.” “Why not? I’m loyal.” “What’s his policy?” “A walk over.” “It’s old-fashioned.” “A fight over then.” “Never heard of it before.” “A knock over, if it suits you better.” “Is he a Radical?” “Oh, no. Why do you ask?” “I thought the policy a new one.” “It’s as old as Adam.” “Is he?” “No. He’s older. He generated the policy. So he must be the elder.” “Then we come back to the old argument—he’s a Mammal.” “A fossil, you mean.” “There’s not much difference.” “Let him speak.” Suddenly, in the midst of all this babel and laughter, absolute silence prevailed. But still the man sat in the chair. “Sir,” said Vestasian, “would you be kind enough to explain why you are sitting there?” “He can’t get up.” “Why?” “He apes the elder Pitt.” But as they seemed about to begin the same incessant laughter again, Vestasian whispered to me,— “You look tired, Genius. We will go away and visit more interesting specimens.” Thus saying he rose and led me out—the others still remaining so intent upon these sallies that they scarcely noticed that we went. “Have you guessed the riddle?” he asked when we were outside in the corridor through which Plucritus had first guided me. “What riddle?” “The riddle concerning that man?” “As to his identity?” He laughed. “Oh, no. His identity is immaterial.” “I think I understand you,” I observed. “But I do not yet understand the treatment.” “Think about it. Here is his cell.” The door was open and we looked in. It was no different from all the rest—bare walls and floor and the rude altar—but the light was absent. Just at that moment a yell of scarce-restrained delight was heard, and looking up the corridor we saw the man returning, accompanied on either side by devils, leaping, skipping and gesticulating. He was subjected to great indignities by them, and they appeared the more enraged because he took no particular notice of them. He came to the cell as if guided there by something, since he himself seemed dazed and hopeless. He stumbled in and fell toward the altar, resting his arms against it, for indeed, by a terrible truth they did not understand, it was the only resting-place for any of them. After the first few minutes spent there he got up and clenched his hands. “It can’t be true,” he muttered. “There’s no sense in it.” Vestasian laughed. “Come away,” he urged me. “He’s perfectly right. There is no sense in it.” From there he led the way up a staircase. It was plain and ordinarily built in stone, drearily cold and comfortless. “I will not detain you very long,” he said, “for to-morrow I understand Plucritus takes you to the city, and you will need some rest and preparation.” We came out upon a long stone passage, and I noticed the doors were numbered like the cells below. He opened the first one and walked in.