The blameless Sant and his companion were in a pretty pickle. Expulsion from the Liblab Fellowship included, not only the withdrawal of funds but also, a threat of prosecution on a charge of obtaining money on false pretences. The last they could afford to laugh at. No English court of law could or would convict upon the evidence producible. The first was tiresome: but of course they had a little put by. And with regard to the future? Mrs. Crowe now was quite certain that Jerry had made a mess of things. She began to think with longing of her lodging-house. What was the good of staying on in Rome? Yes, and who was going to pay her expenses, she would like to know? She impatiently put that point before her paymaster. He did-on a forensic air; and asked for time to advise himself of the matter. She demanded how long he would require. He remarked on the feminine propensity for kicking a man who has been knocked down; and ramped and raved till he thoroughly frightened her. Your Pict is a truly awesome figure when he is red with damp rage. She shrank into a corner whimpering, for she thought he was going to strike her. Instead of that he cooled to sudden wheedling; and anon he cuddled her. She permitted. It was better than nothing; and she felt as though she really needed something of the sort. How could she so misunderstand him? Of course he was not going to desert her. They both were in the same boat; and must sink or swim together. For his part, he intended to swim. She might have known that he was not the man to give up when matters had proceeded so far. But, she urged, what could they do? Do? They could do a fair lot of things. To begin with, they could go and wait on a lot of they old cardinals and mak’ theirsels a nuisance. They went to Ragna, and told him very pretty stories. Their statements were as a treat of almonds to him; but he gave no sign of that. He was suave, polite: said that he would see what could be done; and bowed them away. They went to Whitehead and got no satisfaction. Caerleon thought that they had better let matters rest. Carvale denied himself to them. Sterling listened to them with judicial gravity and gave them no response. Semphill blazed at them; and dismissed them shattered as to their nerves. They returned to the Hotel Nike to wait for Ragna.
The cardinals discussed them with the Pope. The Secretary of State was insinuatory. He spoke of the terrible scandal; and let it be understood that, in his opinion, payments should be made to stop it. He hinted at the impossibility of defending the indefensible. Better to use that million, the balance of the sale of the Vatican treasure. That million had paid the expenses of the sale and of the restoration of the sacristy; and had endowed St. George’s College of historical researchers under the presidency of Dr. Richard Barnett: it was accounted for in della Volta’s balance-sheet, Hadrian put in. Carvale added that payment never stopped scandal. Caerleon earnestly hoped that nothing would be done: it would rake up the past and involve so many people. Semphill yearned for the good old days, faggots, tongue-tearing, hand-chopping, ear-cropping, head-cutting, eye-gouging, maiming, and stoning, and the groaning with much wailing of those impaled by the spine, and all that sort of thing out of the Eymenides. He loudly said so; and was silenced by a look from the Pontiff’s scornful anguished face. Discussion languished. Then Hadrian said “Bring them here.”
Sir Iulo pit-pit-pit-pitted across the City on a motor-bicycle, and burst into Via Due Macelli, a scarlet Hermes, with the annunciation, “You are summoned to attend our Most Holy Father in the Vatican.” Mrs. Crowe hiccuped “At last”; and bolted upstairs to put on her most fetching hat. Jerry Sant grinned spikily through a tattered moustache. The two got into a hired victoria; and followed the gentleman-of-the-secret-chamber.
Hadrian received them in the throne-room. He did not occupy the throne, but the central chair of a semicircular group of five. Ragna, Sterling, Leighton, and Caerleon used the others. The latter had a pigskin portfolio on his knee. In front of the ecclesiastics were two chairs of equal importance. The man and woman lounged there. It was quite a family gathering. But between the Church and the World, Sir John stood by a little table furnished with the pontifical phonographs.
“We have summoned you, in order that ye may speak your minds to Us,” the Supreme Pontiff said: “but ye shall know that We will not hold any communication with you except Our utterances and yours be recorded by these instruments.” His voice was very frigid: but there was neither menace nor offence in it. His quiet tone totally was at variance with the furious defiance of the matter of His words. The paradox disconcerted his hearers. Sant went magenta with wrath: remembered how much he had at stake; and was canny enough not to demur. With an attempt at an easy laugh, he said that it was a little unusual, not quite what he expected, but he didn’t want to be unpleasant to His Lordship, and so he had no objection he was sure. And he lolled in his armchair, as who should say “A’m fair easy.” Mrs. Crowe bit her upper lip: but said that she had no objection either. Hadrian waved His hand; and the pontifical gentleman sat down and set
