"Yes, Sir. And all the surviving giants are there—the ones who didn't get to the camp in the fighting have gone, or are going now under the flag of truce."
"That means," said Redwood, "that you are beaten."
"We are not beaten. No, Sir. You cannot say we are beaten. But your sons have broken the rules of war. Once last night, and now again. After our attack had been withdrawn. This afternoon they began to bombard London———"
"That's legitimate!"
"They have been firing shells filled with—poison."
"Poison?"
"Yes. Poison. The Food———"
"Herakleophorbia?"
"Yes, Sir. Mr. Caterham, Sir———"
"You are beaten! Of course that beats you. It's Cossar! What can you hope to do now? What good is it to do anything now? You will breathe it in the dust of every street. What is there to fight for more? Rules of war, indeed! And now Caterham wants to humbug me to help him bargain. Good heavens, man! Why should I come to your exploded windbag? He has played his game. . . murdered and muddled. Why should I?"
The young man stood with an air of vigilant respect.
"It is a fact, Sir," he interrupted, "that the giants insist that they shall see you. They will have no ambassador but you. Unless you come to them, I am afraid, Sir, there will be more bloodshed."
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