There was no good in threatening these scoundrels.  A brutum fulmen might bring a real one on his head.

Any submission to get out of their hands; and then heaven and earth he would move to unearth and hunt them down.

Suddenly they drove round a corner of a vast white building, and under a porte-cochere.

CHAPTER VII

Chief-Justice Twofold

The Judge found himself in a corridor lighted with dingy oil lamps, the walls of bare stone; it looked like a passage in a prison.  His guards placed him in the hands of other people.  Here and there he saw bony and gigantic soldiers passing to and fro, with muskets over their shoulders.  They looked straight before them, grinding their teeth, in bleak fury, with no noise but the clank of their shoes.  He saw these by glimpses, round corners, and at the ends of passages, but he did not actually pass them by.

And now, passing under a narrow doorway, he found himself in the dock, confronting a judge in his scarlet robes, in a large court-house.  There was nothing to elevate this Temple of Themis above its vulgar kind elsewhere.  Dingy enough it looked, in spite of candles lighted in decent abundance.  A case had just closed, and the last juror’s back was seen escaping through the door in the wall of the jury-box.  There were some dozen barristers, some fiddling with pen and ink, others buried in briefs, some beckoning, with the plumes of their pens, to their attorneys, of whom there were no lack; there were clerks to-ing and fro-ing, and the officers of the court, and the registrar, who was handing up a paper to the judge; and the tipstaff, who was presenting a note at the end of his wand to a king’s counsel over the heads of the crowd between.  If this was the High Court of Appeal, which never rose day or night, it might account for the pale and jaded aspect of everybody in it.  An air of indescribable gloom hung upon the pallid features of all the people here; no one ever smiled; all looked more or less secretly suffering.

“The King against Elijah Harbottle!” shouted the officer.

“Is the appellant Lewis Pyneweck in court?” asked Chief-Justice Twofold, in a voice of thunder, that shook the woodwork of the court, and boomed down the corridors.

Up stood Pyneweck from his place at the table.

“Arraign the prisoner!” roared the Chief:  and Judge Harbottle felt the panels of the dock round him, and the floor, and the rails quiver in the vibrations of that tremendous voice.

The prisoner, in limine, objected to this pretended court, as being a sham, and non-existent in point of law; and then, that, even if it were a court constituted by law (the Judge was growing dazed), it had not and could not have any jurisdiction to try him for his conduct on the bench.

Whereupon the chief-justice laughed suddenly, and every one in court, turning round upon the prisoner, laughed also, till the laugh grew and roared all round like a deafening acclamation; he saw nothing but glittering eyes and teeth, a universal stare and grin; but though all the voices laughed, not a single face of all those that concentrated their gaze upon him looked like a laughing face.  The mirth subsided as suddenly as it began.