to begin with, that Apostles were involved in the brawl.  He knew, what was equally important, the provisions of the Penal Code.  It sufficed.  His chance for dealing with the Russian colony had at last arrived.  Allowing himself barely time to smack his lips at this providential interlude he gave orders for the great cannon of Duke Alfred to be sounded.  It boomed once or twice over Nepenthe and reverberated among the rocks.

In times of yore a certain interval was wont to elapse before the Militia could be assembled, living as they did in distant regions of the island.  But nowadays, as befitted a laborious rural population, they were spending their morning in the wine-shops of the town, gambling, drinking, or playing skittles.  This enabled a sufficient number of them to forgather, in an incredibly short space of time, at the outskirts of the market-place (occupied by a seething, howling tangle of humanity)—­there to receive the plainest of instructions.  They were to quell the disorder and to single out for punishment, whenever possible, the strangers, the obvious authors of the rebellion, easily discernible by their scarlet blouses.  Not that the judge was particular about the lives or deaths of a few natives; he knew that any injuries received by his countrymen would strengthen his case against the outsiders.  But an order couched in such terms would look well in the records of the Court.

Within ten minutes the market-place was cleared.  The Militia had used their weapons with such precision that four school children, seven women, eleven islanders, and twenty-six Apostles were wounded—­about half of them, it was believed, mortally.  Order reigned in Nepenthe.

The warm affiliation case having been laid on ice for the nonce, the next few minutes were occupied by His Worship in issuing warrants of arrest against the Messiah’s followers.  They were lodged by batches in gaol, and in supplementary gaols—­disused cellars and so forth.  Once under lock and key they were safe from mischief for an indefinite length of time, since according to the statutes of the Code of Criminal Procedure, there is no reason on earth why an Italian lawsuit should ever end, or indeed, why it should ever begin.  They might, and probably would, remain incarcerated for life, pending the commencement of a trial which could only be set in motion by the judge himself—­a most improbable conjuncture—­or, failing that, by an extravagant bribe to his official superior, the President of the Court of Cassation.  How were poor Apostles to find the necessary sixty or seventy francs for such a venture?