Dr. Hutton nodded with gravity.

"And you mean to say," cried Turnbull, with a vibrant snort,
"that that proposal was passed in an assembly that calls itself
democratic?"

The doctor showed his whole row of teeth in a smile. "Oh, the
assembly calls itself Socialist now," he said, "But we explained
to them that this was a question for men of science."

Turnbull gave one stamp upon the gravel, then pulled himself
together, and resumed: "But why should your infernal head
medicine-man lock us up in separate cells while he was turning
England into a madhouse? I'm not the Prime Minister; we're not
the House of Lords."

"He wasn't afraid of the Prime Minister," replied Dr. Hutton; "he
isn't afraid of the House of Lords. But----"

"Well?" inquired Turnbull, stamping again.

"He is afraid of you," said Hutton, simply. "Why, didn't you
know?"

MacIan, who had not spoken yet, made one stride forward and stood
with shaking limbs and shining eyes.

"He was afraid!" began Evan, thickly. "You mean to say that
we----"