Rossi was handing his manuscript to the sub-editor, that it might be
sent upstairs, when all at once the air seemed to become empty and the
world to stand still. The machine in the basement had ceased to work.
There was a momentary pause, such as comes on a steamship at sea when
the engines are suddenly stopped, and then a sound of frightened voices
and the noise of hurrying feet. Somebody ran along the corridor outside
and rapped sharply at the door.
At the next moment the door opened and four men entered the room. One of
them was an inspector, another was a delegate, and the others were
policemen in plain clothes.
"The journal is sequestered," said the inspector to David Rossi. And
turning to one of his men, he said, "Go up to the composing-room and
superintend the distribution of the type."
"Allow no one to leave the building," said the delegate to the other
policeman.
"Gentlemen," said the inspector, "we are charged to make a perquisition,
and must ask you for the keys of your desks."
"What is this?" said the delegate, taking the manifesto out of Rossi's
fingers, and proceeding to read it.
At that moment the editor-elect came rushing into the room with a face
like the rising sun.
"I demand to see a list of the things sequestered," he cried.
"You shall do so at the police-office," said the inspector.
"Does that mean that we are all arrested?"
"Not all. The Honourable Rossi, being a Deputy, is at liberty to leave."
"Thought as much," said the new editor, with a contemptuous snort. And
turning to Rossi, and showing his teeth in a bitter smile, he said:
"What did I say would happen? Has it followed quickly enough to satisfy
you?"
The inspector and the delegate opened the editors' desks and were
rummaging among their papers when David Rossi put on his hat and went
home.
At the door of the lodge the old Garibaldian was waiting in obvious
excitement.
"Old John has been here, sir," he said. "Something to tell you. Wouldn't
tell me. But Bruno got it out of him at last. Must be something serious,
for the big booby has been drinking ever since. Hear him in the café,
sir. I'll send him up."
Half-an-hour afterwards Bruno staggered into Rossi's room. He had a
tearful look in his drink-deadened eyes, and was clearly struggling
with a desire to put his arms about Rossi's neck and weep over him.