The Heads of Cerberus

by Francis Stevens

  "Do you mean to tell us," gasped the lawyer, "that you know nothing of this city's history?"

  "Certainly I mean that. Most of these people that you see would not understand your meaning should you ask them such a question. I was educated privately by one of the Servants of Penn." She said it as one might boast of having been brought up by the King of England in person. "I am able to converse intelligently, I hope, on any reasonable subject. But even I never received such absurdly needless instruction as that."

  "But what are the children taught in your schools?"

  "The natural, useful things. Cooking, carpentry, weaving-all the necessary trades. What use would any more be to them? It would only make them dissatisfied, and goodness knows they are already dissatisfied and ungrateful enough!"

  "Well," sighed Trenmore, "whoever has done these things to your people has certainly hit a new low in autocratic government."

  Half playfully, she shook her head at him.

  "Big man," she rebuked, "I don't altogether understand you, but take care of your words. I like you too well to wish to see you die! Penn Service is sacred. Never speak against it, even when you believe yourself alone or in the safest company. It has a million eyes and a million ears, and they are everywhere. And now, let me take you back to the Belleclaire. After to-morrow I will see you more suitably lodged. To-night, however, you must put up as best you may with its inconvenience and bareness."

  Its "inconvenience and bareness," however, amounted to luxury in the eyes of these benighted wanderers from another age. They were very well content to have one more evening alone together. The Loveliest, it seemed, was attending an important social function to which, until they had actually claimed their laurels in the approaching competition, she could not take them.

  "Nobody is anybody here," she said, "except the Servants themselves, the Superlatives and the family connections of each. There are only three or four hundred of us, all told, but we manage to keep the social ball rolling. I can promise you a gay winter. Now, don't attempt to go out on the streets."

  Trenmore frowned. He had a secret desire to visit a certain house on Walnut Street and of course he wouldn't find the place unchanged, and the dust still lying there on the library floor. But he wished to look, at least. "Why not?" he inquired.

  "Because I am responsible for your appearance at the contests to-morrow. Don't be offended. Should anything happen to you it would not only make me very unhappy, but might cause me serious trouble. The competitions are held in the Temple to-morrow at high noon. I'll call for you early and see to it that everything goes through just right. You've no idea what a pleasant future lies in store for you, big man!"

  "Oh, haven't I, though?" muttered Trenmore as he stood with the others in the lobby and watched her retreating back. "Madam Green-eyes, it's yourself has a pleasant surprise on its way to you, and I'm the sorry man to see trouble come to any woman, but it's yourself deserves it, I'm thinking-and anyway, I couldn't let my little sister Viola be made the slave you'd gladly see her, or I've misread the green eyes of you!"

  "What's that you're saying, Terry?" queried Drayton.

  "Just a benediction on the kind-hearted lady, Bobby. Bertram, where are you off to? Didn't you hear herself saying we are all to stop inside?"

  "Aw, say, boss, I'm fair smothered. That doll would talk the hind wheel off a street car. It wasn't me she went bail for and I won't get into trouble."

  "See that you don't, then," counseled Trenmore, and let him go.

  CHAPTER 13: PENN SERVICE

  THEIR day had been so fully occupied that none of the three had found time to seek that purveyor of plentiful information, the newspaper. Indeed, now that he thought of it, Drayton could not recall having seen any newsboy or news stands, and on consulting his friends they, too, denied any such memory. Yet that papers were still published in the city was certain. Mercy had carried one in the golden Court of Justice. Bertram had accounted for his knowledge of the date by reference to a "borrowed" newspaper.

  Drayton went to the house phone and made his request. Something seemed wrong with the wire. While he could perfectly hear the girl at the other end, that young lady appeared unable to catch his meaning. Suddenly she cut him off, and though he snapped the receiver hook impatiently, it produced no further response.

  "Ring for a boy, Bobby," suggested Trenmore. As he said it, however, there came a rapping at the door. Trenmore opened it and there stood a dignified gentleman who bowed courteously and stepped inside.

  "I am the assistant manager," he explained. "There was some trouble over the phone just now. The management desires, of course, that guests of Penn Service shall receive every attention. What were you trying to make that stupid operator understand?"

  "Nothing very difficult," smiled Drayton. "I asked for an evening paper."

  "I beg your pardon. A-what?"

  "A paper-a newspaper," retorted the lawyer impatiently. "But, my dear sir! Surely you can't mean to make such an extraordinary request! Or-perhaps you have a special permit?"

  A dazed silence ensued. "Are you telling me," burst forth Terence, "that in this God-forsaken place you need a permit to read the news of the day?"

  "Every one knows," protested the manager placatingly, "that only Servants or their families are permitted to read the newspaper issued for their benefit."

  Trenmore made a violent forward movement, and Drayton, after one glance at the giant's darkening countenance, hastily pushed the manager into the hall, assured him that their request was withdrawn and closed the door.

  Not five minutes later, Cleverest was again announced. He followed the phone call so closely that Drayton had hardly hung up the receiver before he was at the door. He entered with a frown and a very pale face.

  "See here," he began without greeting or preamble, "are you people trying to commit suicide? How can you expect protection if you persist in running foul of every law in the city?"

  "Why the excitement?" queried Drayton coolly.

  "The excitement, as you call it, is of your making. How dare you attempt to pry among the secret affairs of Penn Service?"

  Drayton shook his head. "Can't imagine what you mean. We've not been out of this suite since the Loveliest brought us back to the hotel."

  "That may be. But you were trying to bribe the manager to supply you with a copy of the Penn Bulletin!"

  Enlightenment dawned in the minds of his three hearers.

  "And is that all?" asked Trenmore scornfully. "As for bribe, we never offered the lad a cent. Did he claim we tried to bribe him?"

  "He hinted at it. He met me at the door, and by Jove, it was a good thing he did! He was on his way to report you at the Temple!"

  "Is it a capital crime, then, to wish to read a paper?"

  Still frowning, Cleverest sank into a chair.

  "What you need is a little common or kindergarten instruction. A bit more and you'll have us all in the pit for conspiracy. To begin, then, are you aware that no one in this city, barring those born in Penn Service or the officials under their control, is allowed to read any literature more informing than a sign post, an instruction pamphlet or a telephone directory? The only books, the only papers, the only manuscripts in existence are circulated and confined strictly to the Temple and the Temple people. The Supreme Servant himself is the only man having access to the more important documents and books, although there is a lesser library open to officials who care for study.

  "Furthermore, the City of Philadelphia having reached a state of perfection under the beneficent power of Penn, his Servants have made it their business to keep it so. Advance or retrogression would be alike objectionable. That is obvious and logical. Everything is most exquisitely standardized. To change so much as a syllable of the language, a style in garments, the architecture or interior arrangement of a building, is rightly regarded as a capital offense. No man, saving the Servants or their emissaries, is allowed to pass outside city limits. No stranger in my time or knowledge has eve
r crossed them from without. You yourselves are the sole exceptions."

  "But," puzzled Drayton, "how does Penn Service keep the city in subjection? We come from a place of far different customs and spirit, where innumerable armed troops would be required for such a business. You have only the usual police."

  The man laughed. "There is a fear more restraining than the fear of bullets. Penn, the mighty All-Father, stands behind his Servants and justifies their acts." The Superlative spoke reverently, but it was a threadbare reverence through which gleamed more than a hint of mockery. "Do you recall," he continued, "that great Red Bell which hangs beneath the golden Dome of Justice? There is a saying in this city, 'When the Bell strikes, we die.' It is named the Threat of Penn. The people believe implicitly that should the Servants become incensed and strike that Bell, the city, the people, the very earth itself would dissolve into air like thin smoke! I myself can't tell you how this supersti-I should say, this faith originated. But it is a very deep-rooted and convenient one. Have you any other questions?"

  "One more, and it is this. During the day I have heard Penn Service referred to as sacred. Last night the judge spoke of the 'sacred precincts.' What we called City Hall you call the Temple. Just now you referred to 'Penn, the mighty All-Father.' Is Penn Service a religious organization?"

  The other stared. "Religious? That is a word I have never before heard. Penn is the All-Father. The Numbers worship and pray to him. Immobile and benevolent he stands, high above our petty affairs, speaking to none save his Servants. Through his wisdom they, the twelve great Servants of Penn, are the Supreme and only power-the Masters of his City!"

  Drayton sighed deeply. "We are indebted to you, sir, for your frankness. In future we will certainly try to keep out of trouble."

  "I trust you will." Cleverest rose to take his departure. "I've set my heart on upsetting Lovely's little game. By the way, where is that other chap-Bertram, you call him?"

  "He went out. He'll be back soon. We had thought of entering Bertram for Quickest-that is, if you have no objection?"

  The Superlative looked startled, then smiled oddly.

  "Oh, no possible objection, of course. Good day to you all. And to you, dearest lady! I shall be first at your side when you reach the Temple to-morrow."

  Speaking of Bertram, however, had recalled something to Viola. "Just a moment, Mr. Cleverest. I beg your pardon. Cleverest, then. Terry, have you that watch?"

  "Did I lose it here?" Cleverest's eyes lighted as Trenmore extended the expensive timepiece.

  "It fell from your pocket perhaps?" suggested Viola demurely.

  "I am a thousand times obliged to you, Miss Trenmore. That watch was given me by my uncle, Mr. Justice Supreme. The old gentleman would never have forgiven me if I had lost it."

  "So, he's the nephew of Mr. Justice Supreme, is he?" murmured Viola, when the Superlative had at last departed. "Now I wonder if that relationship is the card he has up his sleeve?"

  "Viola, if you've an inkling of further mystery, save it till I'm rested from what we've had," protested her brother. "Let's ring for the servant the way we'll be having our suppers. I think we do need them!"

  CHAPTER 14: THE THREAT OF PENN

  THAT night Mr. Arnold Bertram did not return to the Hotel Belleclaire. Moreover, Trenmore discovered with some annoyance that the Cerberus was again missing. He had thrust the thing in his pocket and forgotten it. Now the vial was gone, either lost in the streets, or, more probably, again confiscated by their rotund and assimilative friend the burglar.

  Morning came, but no Bertram. Drayton was first dressed, and he was waiting in the parlor when the others appeared. A moment of silence was followed by a sudden deep chuckle from Trenmore and a little shriek from Viola.

  "Why, you two absurd men!" she cried. "You're wearing exactly the same things as yesterday! You haven't even had them pressed! Terry, your trousers look as if you'd slept in them-not a sign of a crease. What will your true love be thinking?"

  Trenmore flung back his head with a comical look of defiance. "Let her think what she likes. I've no liking for goods no better than stole, Penn Service or no Penn Service! I pay for my clothes, or I'll wear none. But you've no cause to be talking, Viola. Where's the pretty new gown you were to be wearing? And Bobby, what about those fine ash-grays you were choosing so carefully yesterday?"

  "I meant to wear them. If we intended to keep faith with the lady who provided them, I should certainly have worn them. As it is-" Drayton shrugged.

  "And I," confessed Viola, "couldn't bring myself to touch anything that woman gave me. She must take us as we are or not at all. It's ten o'clock-and there's the telephone. I expect that is my Lady Green-eyes."

  It was. She looked disappointed and more than a trifle hurt when she saw their costumes and learned their intention not to change. She herself was resplendent in a gown of pale-yellow satin, under a magnificent fitted coat of Irish lace. Trenmore placated her for their shabby appearance as best he could, and dropping that subject, though with obvious annoyance, the Loveliest inquired for the missing Bertram.

  "We've no idea at all where he is, madam. He went out last night, though I argued it with him, and we've seen neither hide nor hair of the lad since that time."

  She seemed little concerned. "He will probably show up at the Temple. If he has lost his green button and got himself arrested, he is sure to be there. Shall we go now?"

  Descending to the lady's car, they found Broad Street crowded with an immense and mostly stationary throng. Narrow lanes had been cleared by the police for such pedestrians and motor cars as might prefer moving along. A few cars belonging, they were informed, to various officials, were parked in the middle of the street.

  "What are they all waiting for?" queried Viola.

  "For the competitions. They don't often take so much interest. This time the Numbers have a candidate for musical director, and they are waiting for blocks around until the result is announced."

  Drayton wondered why such a large percentage of the population were concerned over an apparently unimportant office; but he made no comment.

  The run from the hotel to the former City Hall was a short one. As the car swung into the open traffic lane, Drayton looked ahead. There, closing the brief vista, loomed that huge gray bulk of masonry which is the heart-the center-the very soul, as one might say, of the ancient Quaker City.

  From the street no sign of the golden dome was visible, nor any exterior hint of the vast innovations within. There rose the tower upon whose pinnacle, visible for many a mile around, stood the giant figure of that good old Quaker, his vast hand forever outstretched in gentle blessing. There he stood, as he had stood for troublous centuries. Below him was the familiar clock and a wraith of white mist obscured its face. Drayton remembered how, on previous visits to Philadelphia, that wraith of mist had prevented him from seeing the time. The wind was perpetually blowing it across. And Broad Street-he had once been here through a city election. All Broad Street had been crowded, just as it was crowded now, with people in fixed masses before the bulletin boards. The bulletins were missing now, but what other difference was there in appearance?

  A yellow multiplicity of numbered buttons and yes, the emblem displayed above the Public Building's southern entrance. Then it had a huge replica of the Knight Templar insignia, with "Welcome K. T." in varicolored bulbs. Now the emblem was a sword-crossed bell. Above it gleamed four ominous figures-2118. That was the difference.

  Drayton emerged from his homesick comparisons to find that the car was drawing up at the curb. Where had once been an open archway were doors of studded iron. A traffic policeman hurried forward and hustled the crowd aside. He used his stick freely, but the crowd did not even growl. It sickened Drayton-not so much the blows, as the spirit in which they were taken. Had the backbone of this people been entirely softened in the vinegar of even two centuries of oppression? And these were his own people, or their descendants-his fellow Americans! That hurt.

&nb
sp; Doubtless, however, as he became adjusted to new usages, the injustice and oppressions of the year A.D. 2118 would seem no more intolerable than the tyrannies and injustices of the twentieth century.

  The iron doors swung wide and closed silently behind the little party. They found themselves in a long corridor, walled and floored with polished red marble, artificially lighted and lined with doors, paneled with frosted glass. "Part of the administrative section," explained the Loveliest, as she hurried them along the passage. "These are all offices of the different departments. Would you care to see the crowd under the Dome from the balcony?"

  Without waiting for assent, she led the way up a short flight of red marble stairs. Suddenly they emerged from beneath a low arch and looked out into the space beneath the Dome of Justice. They stood upon a little balcony. Out from it extended a narrow bridge of planking to the rough scaffold that hung about the Red Bell.

  Beneath the Dome the milk-white floor was no longer visible. They looked down upon a sea of heads. The people were packed so closely that had there come one of those swaying motions common to crowds many must inevitably have been trampled. Only at the northern side was a space cleared and roped off. In the center of this space was the eagle and dove symbol that hid the pit. At the far side a throne of carved and jeweled gold had been set on a high dais, draped with pale blue and yellow banners. Throne and dais were empty, but close about the roped-off space was drawn a cordon of uniformed police. Save for these who wore their regulation caps, not a head in the great hall was covered. Silent, patient, bareheaded, they stood-the despised "Numbers," packed too tightly for even the slight relief of motion, waiting.

  Drayton wondered what it was about them that seemed so strange-so unearthly. Then it came to him. They were silent. Except for a faint rustling sound, like dry leaves in a breeze, the space beneath the golden dome was entirely silent. One could have closed one's eyes and fancied oneself alone.