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smashed among the mouldings above the Atlas. The two sheets of transparent matter that had been stretched
across this gap were rent, the edges of the torn aperture darkened, curved, ran rapidly towards the framework,
and in a moment the Council chamber stood open to the air. A chilly gust blew in by the gap, bringing with it
a war of voices from the ruinous spaces without, an elvish babblement, "Save the Master!" "What are they
doing to the Master?" "The Master is betrayed!"
And then he realised that Ostrog's attention was distracted, that Ostrog's grip had relaxed, and, wrenching his
arms free, he struggled to his knees. In another moment he had thrust Ostrog back, and he was on one foot, his
hand gripping Ostrog's throat, and Ostrog's hands clutching the silk about his neck.
But now men were coming towards them from the dais--men whose intentions he misunderstood. He had a
glimpse of someone running in the distance towards the curtains of the antechamber, and then Ostrog had
slipped from him and these newcomers were upon him. To his infinite astonishment, they seized him. They
obeyed the shouts of Ostrog.
He was lugged a dozen yards before he realised that they were not friends--that they were dragging him
towards the open panel. When he saw this he pulled back, he tried to fling himself down, he shouted for help
with all his strength. And this time there were answering cries.
The grip upon his neck relaxed, and behold! in the lower corner of the rent upon the wall, first one and then a
number of little black figures appeared shouting and waving arms. They came leaping down from the gap into
the light gallery that had led to the Silent Rooms. They ran along it, so near were they that Graham could see
the weapons in their hands. Then Ostrog was shouting in his ear to the men who held him, and once more he
was struggling with all his strength against their endeavours to thrust him towards the opening that yawned to
receive him. "They can't come down," panted Ostrog. "They daren't fire. It's all right. We'll save him from
them yet."
For long minutes as it seemed to Graham that inglorious struggle continued. His clothes were rent in a dozen
places, he was covered in dust, one hand had been trodden upon. He could hear the shouts of his supporters,
and once he heard shots. He could feel his strength giving way, feel his efforts wild and aimless. But no help
came, and surely, irresistibly, that black, yawning opening came nearer.
The pressure upon him relaxed and he struggled up. He saw Ostrog's grey head receding and perceived that he
was no longer held. He turned about and came full into a man in black. One of the green weapons cracked
close to him, a drift of pungent smoke came into his face, and a steel blade flashed. The huge chamber span
about him.
He saw a man in pale blue stabbing one of the black and yellow attendants not three yards from his face. Then
hands were upon him again.
He was being pulled in two directions now. It seemed as though people were shouting to him. He wanted to
understand and could not. Someone was clutching about his thighs, he was being hoisted in spite of his
vigorous efforts. He understood suddenly, he ceased to struggle. He was lifted up on men's shoulders and
carried away from that devouring panel. Ten thousand throats were cheering.
He saw men in blue and black hurrying after the retreating Ostrogites and firing. Lifted up, he saw now across
the whole expanse of the hall beneath the Atlas image, saw that he was being carried towards the raised
platform in the centre of the place. The far end of the hall was already full of people running towards him.
They were looking at him and cheering.
He became aware that a bodyguard surrounded him. Active men about him shouted vague orders. He saw
CHAPTER XXII 127
close at hand the black moustached man in yellow who had been among those who had greeted him in the
public theatre, shouting directions. The hall was already densely packed with swaying people, the little metal
gallery sagged with a shouting load, the curtains at the end had been torn away, and the antechamber was
revealed densely crowded. He could scarcely make the man near him hear for the tumult about them. "Where
has Ostrog gone?" he asked.
The man he questioned pointed over the heads towards the lower panels about the hall on the side opposite the
gap. They stood open, and armed men, blue clad with black sashes, were running through them and vanishing
into the chambers and passages beyond. It seemed to Graham that a sound of firing drifted through the riot.
He was carried in a staggering curve across the great hall towards an opening beneath the gap.
He perceived men working with a sort of rude discipline to keep the crowd off him, to make a space clear
about him. He passed out of the hall, and saw a crude, new wall rising blankly before him topped by blue sky.
He was swung down to his feet; someone gripped his arm and guided him. He found the man in yellow close
at hand. They were taking him up a narrow stairway of brick, and close at hand rose the great red painted
masses, the cranes and levers and the still engines of the big building machine.
He was at the top of the steps. He was hurried across a narrow railed footway, and suddenly with a vast
shouting the amphitheatre of ruins opened again before him. "The Master is with us! The Master! The
Master!" The shout swept athwart the lake of faces like a wave, broke against the distant cliff of ruins, and
came back in a welter of cries. "The Master is on our side!"
Graham perceived that he was no longer encompassed by people, that he was standing upon a little temporary
platform of white metal, part of a flimsy seeming scaffolding that laced about the great mass of the Council
House. Over all the huge expanse of the ruins swayed and eddied the shouting people; and here and there the
black banners of the revolutionary societies ducked and swayed and formed rare nuclei of organisation in the
chaos. Up the steep stairs of wall and scaffolding by which his rescuers had reached the opening in the Atlas
Chamber clung a solid crowd, and little energetic black figures clinging to pillars and projections were
strenuous to induce these congested, masses to stir. Behind him, at a higher point on the scaffolding, a number
of men struggled upwards with the flapping folds of a huge black standard. Through the yawning gap in the
walls below him he could look down upon the packed attentive multitudes in the Hall of the Atlas. The distant
flying stages to the south came out bright and vivid, brought nearer as it seemed by an unusual translucency of
the air. A solitary monoplane beat up from the central stage as if to meet the coming aeroplanes.
"What has become of Ostrog?" asked Graham, and even as he spoke he saw that all eyes were turned from
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