He was at the foot of the dais; he was going up its
steps. He was no good in a scrap, but he had a nerve in some things! He
was up the steps now, and leaning forward; he was looking hard in the old
man's face; his own was close to it. He laid hold of one of the old man's
arms, it happened to be that left arm of Mr. Saffron's, lifted it, and
let it fall again; it fell back just in the position from which he had
lifted it. Then he straightened himself up, looking a trifle green
perhaps, but reassured, and called out to Mike, in a penetrating whisper,
"He's a stiff un all right!"
Yes! But then, what of the grave? Because it was a grave and nothing
else; there was no getting away from it. What of the grave, and what
about the scepter?
And what was Mike going to do now? He was tiptoeing to the edge of the
dais. He was moving towards one of the high candlesticks, the top of
which was a little below the level of his head, as he stood raised on the
dais beside the throne. He leant forward towards the candles; his intent
was obvious.
But big Neddy was not minded that he should carry it out, could not
suffer him to do it.
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